SEVENTH HEAVEN

SEVENTH HEAVEN

♱ ‧₊˚ ࿓ pro-hero!shouto todoroki x f!reader. nsfw — mdni. service dom!shouto / pre-established relationship / dubcon [ reader under effects of lust quirk ] / pillow humping / lotsa spit + drool >u< / oral [ m -> f ] + snowballing / quirk play [ temp. play + branding ] / cervix fucking / creampie ♡ cum stuffing ♡ / overstim / squirting / rework + repost from old blog. 5.1k wc ⊹ masterlist

shouto todoroki is driving the worst he thinks he has in his entire life. it's reckless— the way he's running red lights and stop signs, abusing the horn of his car, going nearly 25 mph over the posted speed limit while muttering profanities under his breath. it’s a bad look for a pro-hero of his calibre, but frankly, he doesn’t have it within himself to care— especially after the phone call you had given him not ten minutes prior.

your voice plays in his head as he thinks back to the shakiness of it, desperation obvious in its breathlessness, ‘shou, can you come home— please come home? r-really need you here...’

you had hung up before he could even open his mouth to ask you what the matter was, and it wasn’t much longer after that when he’d abandoned the lunch you packed for him this morning, leaving it sitting on the desk in his office while he rushed to his car— which is where is now— avoiding crashing and causing collisions as he tries to make it back home to you as fast as he can.

worry settles in his chest as he flits through all the possible worst-case scenarios he can think of. had someone broken in? perhaps it was a villain with a personal vendetta against him— or just a regular thief… no, it couldn’t have been; the house’s security system was far too strong for a low-life criminal to be able to break through.

whatever it may be, shouto mentally prepares himself to face what’s on the other side of the front door when he arrives in record time— 15 minutes from the heart of the city to the gated neighbourhood in the suburbs where the two of you reside in a house you always complained was too large for just the two of you.

the harsh friction of rubber on pavement screeches loudly as he pulls into the driveway, disregarding his poor parking job before making a beeline for the front door. he inhales deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves and the frenzied voice in his head before shakily punching the four-digit code into the padlock. throwing the door open, shouto rushes in, eyes darting around the space of your home to look for you and any signs of disturbance.

everything seems to be in place in the living room— the photos of you and him and your mutual friends on the fireplace mantel, the empty sake bottles and deck of cards on the coffee table from saturday night’s drinking escapade, the bouquet of burgundy roses he had placed on the closed lid of the grand piano for you to find— nothing had moved an inch from where it was this morning when you sent him off to work with his lunch and a goodbye kiss to the collar of his hero costume, the lip stain is still easily visible against the dark fabric.

he continues his inspection of the first floor, making thorough work of the kitchen and powder room before skipping every other step as he hurries up the spiral staircase. stopping at the top, he looks both ways— snapping his head towards your shared bedroom from where he hears muffled whimpers.

“honey?” no response. he feels his heartbeat audibly in his head and fear settle in his bones when your sounds only increase in volume as he nears, his right hand covered in frost in preparation to confront the situation behind the closed door, “honey, are you alright?”

“shou…”

his eyes widen at the break in your voice, all sense of precaution flying out the window when he runs towards your room and flings the door open.

shouto doesn't know exactly what he's expecting to be welcomed with when he barges in— perhaps it's dark red painting mulberry silk sheets, his lover bloodied and beaten and on the brink of death, perhaps you're tied up in the chair with a gag in your mouth being held at gunpoint. his blood boils with a mix of rage and fear at the thought.

whatever it may be, it's the last thing shouto expects— something that doesn't even cross his mind— that greets him.

you're curled up and writhing on the bed, sheets ruffled from your incessant tossing and turning, and there's nothing adorning your frame except his white dress shirt bunching up at the curve of your hips.

your boyfriend stands breathless and dumbfounded at the doorway as he tries to make sense of your current state, but is quickly knocked out of his thoughts when another whimper of his name pushes past you, “baby, what happened?” shouto rushes over to your side and raises his hand to cup your cheek soothingly, only to slightly retract it from how abnormally warm you are to his touch, “you’re heating up…”

“i, hah— lust quirk… someone accidentally hit me with it…” you whine out through little gasps for air, and suddenly his attention is averted to the pillow you have in between your legs— his pillow, and shouto feels a blush start to cover his face when he catches sight of your bare cunt grinding along it.

he finds himself in a trance— cool palm stuck to your heated cheek as his gaze travels up and down your body: from your parted lips to the labored rise and fall of your chest and all the way down to the wet patch on the pillow in between your plush thighs that only seems to be getting larger with each passing second.

he’s heard of lust quirks before— heard of their side effects: increased stamina, more intense orgasms— he’s also heard cheeky remarks from his friends about how they wished their lovers had them. shouto would be lying if he said he hadn't given any thought to how either you or he would be affected by it; sex with you is always amazing, always has him feeling like he's in seventh heaven, but he can't help but dream about how it'd feel even better under the effect of a lust quirk.

with your whiny panting, glazed-over eyes and arched back as you try to get off on his pillow— shouto doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this needy when he hasn’t laid a finger over your most sensitive parts yet. it has the initial worry dissipating from his blood to be quickly replaced with a burning desire as he toes off his boots and leaves them at the foot of the bed before climbing onto it to hover over you.

he has a hard time staving off the growing ache of his cock and the lust evident in his gaze as he stares down at you squirming against the cool sheets, hips rutting against the pillow and sweet, needy cries falling onto his ears.

blue flames rip through your limbs, head clouded with a carnality that has you short of breath and searching desperately for release— you’ve never felt this way before; you can feel your heart pounding against your skull and the throbbing of your clit in your fingertips. it’s overwhelming, and it has you impatient as your hands reach up to entangle in his two-toned hair and tug him closer, “please, please, shou— need you so bad— please—”

it shakes him out of his thoughts, the drawn-out whine of his name sending blood flooding down to his cock, “it’s okay, baby, ‘m right here. you have me…” shouto shushes you and removes the palm from your cheek to replace the pillow in between your legs with his clothed thigh, huffing out a breathless laugh when he sees your cream begin to coat the fabric, “so wet… ‘nd i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“uh huh, ‘s all for you— only you,” your thighs clench around his, a pleasured wail pushing past you at how much more friction there is with it than his pillow.

“you’re so cute when you’re this turned on…” he leans down to coo at you sweetly, brushing his nose against yours before slotting his lips in between yours.

the kiss is sloppy—lewd and filthy as spit get tossed between your mouths with little care for the way it dribbles down the corners of his lips, to his chin, to fall as fat globs onto the expanse of your chest.

a fire begins to burn in the pit of his stomach when you grind up on his thigh, and shouto can only bring himself to respond with a low moan as he sucks on your tongue. his palms travel up from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing the soft mounds slightly before tracing his thumbs over your pebbled nipples through the fabric of the shirt you were wearing.

it belonged to him— the white dress shirt he had worn out to dinner with you last night. he wonders why you chose to reach for it, but is quick to arrive at an answer, “does this shirt smell like me?”

you shy into the large neck of the shirt, nodding meekly as your thighs rub against his upon hearing the sweet adoration lacing his voice.

“you’re— hah— so perfect,” he pulls away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting him to you as he looks down, mouth parted and eyes lidded with lust as he watches every slow roll of your hips against his thigh, muttering out an expletive when he feels your slick seep through the thick fabric of his pants to meet his bare skin. “baby, can i taste you?”

it comes out as barely a whisper— almost a plea against your lips, and the sultriness of his voice has you taking in a shaky breath and nodding your head frantically, “uh huh, wan’ you s’bad, shou…”

he leans in once more to capture your lips— softly, this time. shouto falls deeper when your grip on his hair tightens and your tongue slips into his mouth, but he pulls away just before he can drown, gently shushing your protested whines, “i know, honey, i know.”

with one final lingering kiss placed to your brow, he sits back on his haunches to roll you over onto your stomach, running his palms up the curves of your waist under his shirt you were wearing to tug it off of your frame.

you’re fully exposed to him now; he feels a lecherous heat radiating off of you and can see the thin sheen of your essence coating the insides of your plush thighs— he can smell it too— it’s smells like you, like the sugarplum sweetness he’s used to, but it’s unexpectedly strong.

unexpected, but most welcome.

it consumes his senses— has his head spinning and spit pooling at the tip of his tongue, and if anyone were to look into his eyes, they would be able to see just how dilated his pupils were, leaving little space for the grey and blue of his irises to show through. it’s almost as if your scent were casting a spell on him, and shouto can’t help but wonder whether this is an effect of the quirk you’re under.

he’s quick to remove his hero costume, leaving only his wrist guards and boxers on before clambering back on top of you to place his open mouth on the nape of your neck, evident hard-on pressing down on your ass, “jus’ let me take care of you…”

cool fingers trace down your spine, warm kisses following in their wake until they reach the dimples at the bottom of your back into which he digs his thumbs, wrapping his large hands around your hips to angle you up onto your knees. a little mumble of ‘arch your back’ followed by a quick rustle of the sheets and a subsequent ‘good girl’ has your cunt landing right in front of his face. he can see you so clearly like this, translucent slick sliding down your folds to collect on the swell of your clit.

did you always get this wet?

shouto examines your sex more closely than he thinks he ever has before, one hand leaving your hip to gently rub circles onto your nub with his thumb, slowly gliding it up and down your folds as he revels in the way your essence coats the pad of his finger in a thick glaze.

he’s teasing you— unknowingly— thumb continuing its assault on your clit while he finds himself enamoured by the way you clamp down around empty air at his ministrations. he’s shaken out of his trance by a hurried wiggle of your hips and a muffled whimper of his name reaching his ears, quickly mumbling out a chuckle of an apology before leaning in to slot his pointed nose in between your folds and suck sweetly on your nub.

the soft, warm plush of his lips on the place you needed to feel him most has you crying out, arching your chest further into the mattress and one of your arms flying back to find the grip of his hands on your hips.

you’re incredibly sweet— tooth-rottingly so, and it’s not long before tender suckles turn into harsh licks up the length of your folds as he gets drunk on your taste, his tongue finding a home within your walls to try and taste more of you.

more, more, more.

insatiable; that’s what he is, humming contently at the slick that travels across his tongue and down his throat, slurring almost incoherently against the hot, tight ring of muscle, “y’taste— fuck— so good…”

the vibrations of his baritone voice send blood rushing down to your ever-swelling clit and his words of praise do nothing to stop the tightening of the coil in the pit of your stomach.

you feel yourself floating— head in the clouds and brain fogged from how he draws hearts onto your clit and the lewd squelches of him cleaning up your drooling cunt— it all feels so good, too good, and you slide the hand you have on top of his to grasp onto his fingers in a failed attempt to keep yourself grounded.

failed, because your actions have his other hand, his right hand flying down from your hip, cool thumb flicking over your throbbing nub and slightly cooler middle and ring fingers scissoring and sheathing themselves inside you.

you kick your feet against the mattress and gasp out when he finds that one shallow, sensitive spot that lies within your gummy walls, sending the tight coil in your stomach unravelling at full tilt sooner than you had wanted it to, “shou, p-please— cumming, ‘m cumming—!”

it’s a broken, drawn-out moan, and it travels straight to shouto’s cock as he grinds his crotch down into the mattress and hums, quirking his fingers faster and replacing his thumb with his lips.

he removes himself from you when your thighs begin to shake, turning you onto your back before hovering over you to lean down and take your lips in his. you feel him smirk against you after he pushes his way into your mouth, letting your cream spill from his tongue to yours, “see how sweet you taste, baby? gonna give me a cavity…”

you can only hum and lazily smile in agreement, chest heaving as your catch your breath. looking up at his muscular frame, you reach one hand out to trace your fingers down the lines of his sinewy torso until they arrive at the elastic waistband of his boxers, gently tugging his lower half against yours as you wrap your legs around his lithe waist for leverage, “wan’ you here…” you take his hand in yours and press his palm to your abdomen, “… please?”

his chest constricts at how sweetly you beg for him, your fingers tracing shapes on the back of his hand while you look up at him with dewy, bambi eyes.

“yeah, you’ll have me, angel… i’m yours,” he hastily wipes your drying essence off his chin before leaning down to kiss you again— slowly and lovingly, running his thumb along your cheekbone to seal his promise.

you’re quick to spring into action, the both of you letting out a languid moan when you grind up along the outline of his cock, feeling the cool, sticky mess of his pre-cum seeping through the thin fabric of his boxers against your hot cunt.

shouto’s breath fans across your neck when he looks down, palming his cock briefly before pulling his boxers halfway down his thighs, shuddering at the cold air that sweeps from the open window over his leaking slit. you marvel at how it twitches against his stomach, beads of pre-cum oozing out when he pumps the length a few times and runs a finger along the large vein on the underside; you know it as his most sensitive area.

using one hand, he angles your leg higher on his waist while he uses the other to guide the head of his cock to tap your swollen clit a few times, proceeding to then slide it in between your warm folds. he thumbs at his slit, coaxing more pre-cum out from it to lubricate you further as he struggles to push his red, bulbous head past the tight ring of muscle lining your entrance.

“y-you’re so much tighter… fuck—" it comes out as a strained groan when he manages to get half an inch inside you, fingers digging almost painfully into your flesh.

you can only mewl out an apology in response and pull him in closer when your thighs tighten around his waist, a silent plea for him to fuck you.

“i know, honey, j-jus’ wait…” shouto takes a moment to draw his mind away from how your cunny sucks on his slit with every clamp down on it— knowing he would be sure to cum pre-maturely if he had spent any longer thinking about it.

with a low growl, he eases himself into your slick warmth— inch by agonizing inch— his girth brushing delicately against all the pleasure points that line your walls in a way that has your breath hitching in your throat and your hands flying up to grip onto his biceps. after what feels like an eternity, he finally sheathes his full length in you, head of his cock weighing down heavily on the sponge of your cervix.

it hurts— ever so slightly— the slow burn ripping through your core and down to your entrance, but shouto's kind enough to let you adjust to his size against what feels like your “virgin” walls. when he hears you let out a needy whimper, urging him to move, he begins to grind his hips down onto yours experimentally as he massages your cervix with his tip, groin simultaneously rubbing against your puffy nub in a way that ignites a fire in your stomach and has you writhing beneath him.

your noises are angelic— sweet, drawn-out moans of his name that ring in his head as his eyes roll back into his skull at the plush grip of your spongy walls— it has the muscles in his chest contracting and cock twitching inside of you almost frantically, in search of release.

after keeping his ministrations up for some time, he can tell you're almost to cum by how the sounds that leave your lips increase in volume and frequency, and he takes this as the perfect opportunity to pull back out of you almost fully and drive back into you with a harsh, erotic groan.

shouto stops for a moment to catch his breath, the grip of your gummy walls around him making him feel like he might cum with just another thrust alone. you’re incredibly tight, almost painfully so, and it has the fire in the pit of his stomach only burning brighter with each passing moment. he draws back and forth deep into you, knocking your cervix with every thrust as they progressively get faster and rougher.

"i- ahn, right there, right there- fuck!" your mind goes numb from how he abuses the most sensitive spot that lies within your walls, and you weakly claw at his back in search of purchase.

your words prompt shouto to hoist your legs up onto the tops of his broad shoulders, the new angle he's hitting you at making your jaw fall slack and back arch, chest pressed flush against his own as he leans down to swallow your cries, "t-that feel good, angel?”

"mhm— gonna cum—!” he knocks your cervix repeatedly, the velvety feel of his dick squishing up against it finally getting that coil in your stomach to snap loose. it sends you reeling, walls spasming around his length and your eyes squeezing shut while you ride out your wave of pleasure.

shouto thinks he’s going to cum too— he can tell by the way an unusual burst of pleasure courses through his veins and into his palms when he subconsciously heats one of them up and cools the other one down. before he can fully process his actions, the words spill out from his lips as a begging request, “can i brand you, baby?

“mhm, y-yeah—please…” your sweaty palms land on top of the backs of his hands, pressing them further into the fat that wraps around your hips, “make me yours, wanna be your pretty girl forever ‘nd ever…”

and that he does.

with a breathless proclamation of his love, he manipulates the temperatures radiating from either palm to leave a faint burn mark on your right hip and frostbite on your left while he spills inside your womb, thrusts faltering when you clamp down around his length— the pleasured pain from his quirk tumbling you into another orgasm as you cream around his cock yet again.

but it’s not enough— the mass of arousal from the lust quirk still weighs down heavily on your abdomen, and your hands find shouto’s to intertwine your fingers with his.

holding them to your chest, you lazily open your eyes and look up to meet his heterochromatic ones, sighing happily when he reaches down to kiss away the tears that spill onto your cheeks, “one more?”

his cock stirs awake from its place within your walls at your tender plea, and he raises your hand to plant his lips over each knuckle, “of course, angel… as many more times as you want; i’ll be right here,” with a final kiss placed to the inside of your calf, shouto leans forward, folding you nearly in half while he nestles his cock deeper within you— so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb.

he slowly draws his hips back and forth; this time around made a little easier from his milky seed smeared against your walls, and he calculates his thrusts so that the fat head of his cock prods that one spongy, sensitive spot that has you keening against him and your fingers holding a vice grip around his larger hands.

your silken walls are quick to pulse around his length, breathless pants picking up their pace and whines of, ‘please, please, please!’ getting higher in pitch— the sweet noises reminiscent of those that you made when you came around his length not five minutes ago.

shouto frees a hand from your grasp, moving it up to cup your face as he kisses you deeply, muffling your shaky cries with his low groans, “that’s it— let go, baby,” his voice is silky and saccharine on your lips, and it, along with a final nudge of his cock against the deepest pleasure point inside you, sends you toppling into a third orgasm— this time stronger than the past few as overstimulation settles in your bones.

you’re shaking profusely under him, body wracked with trembles— and the only thing you can bring yourself to do is mindlessly babble against his skin while you cum on his cock, “i love you, i love you, i love you—!”

“f-fuck, i love you too— s-so much,” shouto lets out a guttural groan at your proclamation, the words travelling straight to the fire in the pit of his stomach as he buries his face in your neck and spills inside your womb—creamy seed sloshing around your walls to paint them an opaque, milky white.

he jerks slightly on top of you, jolts of intense euphoria shooting through his limbs— but before he can catch his breath, shouto’s leaning down to swirl his tongue over your nipples after another meek whimper of, ‘once more?’ falls onto his heeding ears.

one more time turns into three more times turns into more times than shouto can count—it’s been nearly six hours since he’s arrived home and the sun’s begun to set now; it shines down on your body from the open windows of your bedroom and casts a warm orange glow over your skin. if shouto weren’t so focused on engraving the sloppy mess of his cum and your cream coating the base of his cock and groin into his brain, he’d be looking deep into your eyes, admiring the way they twinkle and glow a few shades lighter under the setting sun.

but he’s far too gone for that now, his hips slapping erratically against the backs of your thighs while your legs tremble atop his broad shoulders— cum gushing out of your worn pussy and dribbling down your skin to soak the bed sheets with every hasty thrust.

the air is thick with the smell of sex and lewd sounds of your shared moans as your lover makes you cum for the sixth time that day— an additional two times on his tongue and fingers.

this was too much, even for a man with his stamina— filling you up with his hot seed nearly enough times to count on both his hands— yet he can’t find it within himself to stop; not with your angelic mewls, not with the way your nails scratch red wings onto his back, not with how your wet walls suck him in— it all sends him spiralling as he chases high after high.

shouto’s convinced he’s shooting blanks inside you at this point, cock beat and overstimulated, veins protruding from his biceps as the sweaty hold he has on the headboard only gets tighter. he’s uncharacteristically talkative in this state, too— stuttering and hiccupping on words that spew from his lips almost nonsensically, “b-baby, oh, god— so s-sensitive— you’re so fuckin' beautiful— h-hah, fuck—"

he continues to rut uncontrollably into your sopping cunt, unable to think straight— but he can tell he’s almost done for. his arms are trembling from holding up his weight for the past few hours, two-toned hair wet against his forehead and sweat dripping down his body onto yours. you’re spent too— he can sense it in the way your high-pitched whines of his name turn to incoherent babbles and how your hands fall limp from his back to grip at the silk sheets.

with one last push, he slows down his thrusts, angling them so that the head of his cock fits in between the opening of your cervix, thumb tiredly massaging circles into your near numb clit as you fall into a final orgasm.

your heels dig into his shoulder blades, not sure whether to pull him closer or push him away when you feel an unfamiliar hot streak rip through your abdomen and down your limbs, body breaking into trembles as your back arches off the bed and your hands weakly clasp at the edges of the pillow your head lay on, “f-feels funny, shou— ‘m gonna—!”

“‘s alright, baby—oh, f-fuck— me too,” and with a quick snap of his hips forward, shouto fills you to the hilt with his length, cock twitching frantically against your pulsating walls as he empties himself inside you one last time, teeth clenched to suppress a wanton groan when he feels a thick gush of your arousal spray all over his abdomen.

his limbs give out from under him, and he lowers himself down gently onto you before rolling over onto his back and cradling your head in the nook of his neck, his other hand pressing your chest flush against his.

you feel each other’s heartbeats like this, and you share a tired laugh when shouto’s cock softens and slips out of you, the cum he’s plugged you up with slowly following suit as it leaks out onto the already soaked, taut skin of his tummy. you lay together in the remnants of your arousals, too blissed out to be bothered by the messiness of it all.

shouto speaks up first after he catches his breath, voice raspier than usual from overexerting it in the hours prior, “you had me worried, y’know… thought someone had broken in, or something.”

“‘m sorry…” you lay slow kisses over the expanse of his chest apologetically, shyly smiling when you realize he’s tracing hearts into your back with his finger, “i tried taking care of it myself, but it’s jus’ not the same without you.”

warmth floods his chest at your words, and he leans his head down to place his lips firmly on the crown of your head, “i’m glad you called— that was… amazing.”

“maybe i should accidentally get it hit with a lust quirk more often,” you smirk up at him mischievously, poking his cheek when he returns your look with fake incredulity.

“and keep me from doing hero work?”

“you would be doing hero work; rescuing me, a poor civilian, helping them tough it out…”

he only responds with a cheeky hum as he glides his tongue over his top row of teeth, to which you scoff.

“what— would you rather i call someone else instead the next time this happens? what if i called baku—”

“alright, alright, i get it,” shouto interrupts you before you have a chance to finish your statement as he wraps his arms around you tighter, almost protectively— and runs a heated finger up and down the groove of your spine.

you lay in comfortable silence a tad longer— watching the sun set and the moon rise, listening to the singing of the birds as it dwindles off into the chirps of the crickets.

shouto opens his mouth to ask about getting you cleaned up, only to shut it just as fast when he notices that you're fast asleep, little snores pushing past the part of your lips where drool dribbles onto his chest. he smiles down at you with adoration and stars dancing around in his eyes at how sweet— how innocent you look like this— his beautiful girl.

his fingers find your hips, rubbing soothing circles over your slightly burnt skin from when he had branded you in the hours prior— a symbol of your love, a silent vow to protect you and keep you out of harm's way for as long as he lives, a reminder that you belong to each other.

from coco ๑‧₊˚ ෆ here she is . . a slight rework ++ repost of my longest smutfic 2 date >u< ! i hope tis okay . . it's a littl different from my current writing style && i dunno if i vibe w it as much ^^; regardless ! i rly hope u luvd dis piece <3 comments + reblogs r supa dupa appreciated && help me a ton ! let me know wat u think (ᐡ⸝⸝ɞ̴̶̷ ﻌ -⸝⸝ᐡ)

taggiez ๑‧₊˚ ෆ @clelevanters @5ugu @intergalacticrory @twinbladesgaylia @tsumuomiiz @keiphoria @lilliangazer @thesoftestcherub @lem-hhn @itsyabitchbrooke @asaptakami @namu-lovebot @soumies @secretpastaneckapricot-blog @itachislut @cherrykamado @nekoiin

Prompt List

Main Masterlist

Underneath: You'd been looking for some time alone when you'd gone to the shooting range at nearly midnight. König clearly had the same idea.

-

Anything: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Another One

Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN!Reader Word count: 3100± Warning: Profanity, loud neighbour Summary: Simon feels like surprising his friends, so he asked you to be his date to a military ball.

There was just something about Simon bothering you in the middle of the night that seemed conveniently suiting. It was a pleasant surprise. Especially whilst you could not sleep because your newly moved in neighbour was being loud.

After the last time when you kissed him—by kissing your fingers and pressing them on his mask—he had not been making any contact with you. You had not seen him.

Simon texted you just now, the middle of the night, a couple of months after his last appearance. He texted you three words; Fancy a walk?

Getting up from your bed, you started replying to his message; Sleepwalking, yes.

Less than a minute later, you were by your door and looked through the peephole. Simon was there. Opening your door, you stood face to face with Simon immediately.

The two of you only looked at each other for a moment. In the background, your neighbour’s voice could be heard.

“You’re sleeping with eyes open?” Simon asked.

You put a finger on your lips, shushing him as you closed your door.

“Don’t wake me up,” you warned.

Simon let out an amused hum, making you smile at him as you both started walking towards the lift.

Instead of down, Simon brought the lift up. Once getting to the highest floor the lift could get you, the two of you walked up the stairs and out to the roof.

The cold night’s wind brushed through your skin right away. The sky was not exactly blank, but not much to see either.

Simon leaned his forearms by the railings when you two got there. You leaned your back against it next to him.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked.

“I’m surprised you can even try with that oldman living next to you,” Simon answered.

“Oh, he’s dead when you’re away and someone else is living there. It’s his grandson. I think he’s living with a couple of roommates,” you informed.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon sighed.

“Yeah. Horrible,” you nodded. “Hope you’re not here if one day he’s throwing a frat party or something.”

“This building is getting ridiculous,” Simon commented.

“To be fair, the landlord let you, a constantly mask wearing man, live here,” you replied.

“Our landlord was my drill sergeant,” Simon informed.

“Really? I don’t even know he’s a veteran,” you said.

“You think any other person would let me live like this?” Simon questioned.

“I don’t know. You can threaten him or something. Or have your superior get you this place,” you shrugged.

“No,” Simon said.

There came a pause.

“I have another favour to ask, Y/N,” Simon stated.

Looking down, you held back a smile, hoping he would owe you another date after this one.

“Okay,” you said. “What is it?”

“I have a work event. A formal work event. My friends are… thinking that I won’t be going, but I thought it’d be funny if I do and bring another person with me,” Simon said.

You looked at him. Simon was slowly turning towards you.

“What is this… formal work event?” you asked.

“Just a social event. You’ll need a formal dress or a suit, whichever you prefer,” Simon answered.

You could not hold back your smile.

“It’s a ball,” Simon added.

“Sounds not like a thing you would go to,” you brought up.

Simon said nothing, but kept his eyes on you.

“Okay,” you said. “Tell me when.”

“This Saturday,” Simon instantly stated.

“You sound excited,” you teased.

“Let’s get back in, shall we?” Simon sighed.

“You brought me up here just for that?” you asked.

“What else would I bring you up here for?” Simon questioned.

“To freeze to death, maybe,” you shrugged.

“You cold?” Simon asked.

“A bit, yeah,” you answered.

“Let’s get back in, then,” Simon said.

You raised an eyebrow at him, hoping he would wrap an arm around you or something. He only looked at you in return. After some time, you turned around and leaned your forearms on the railings to match his position.

“See, you don’t even wanna get back in,” you pointed out.

“I’m not looking forward to a sleepless night with that fucking college student loudly playing video games,” Simon stated.

“Oh, you’re lucky he’s just playing video games tonight. Sometimes he would bring a guy over and they would—”

“I think I get the idea,” Simon cut off.

You chuckled.

“On second thought. Maybe we should deliver him another noise complaint,” Simon continued.

“I already did. He doesn’t care,” you said.

“Well, he hasn’t seen me, has he?” Simon questioned.

Thinking it was a good idea, the two of you started making your way back down. As you descended in the lift, you planned your act.

If this person did not care about you complaining about him being loud, maybe adding Simon would change his mind. If not, then, only God could help him from Ghost.

Once you arrived in front of said neighbour’s door—whose loud laughing with his roommates could be heard all across the hallway—you knocked on it. It seemed that no one heard your knock at first, which was what happened last time, too, so you knocked again.

This time, you had a response from the person living in the flat, cracking the door open and looking at you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted.

“I’m just delivering our neighbour,” you stepped aside and revealed Simon.

The young man widened his eyes as he tilted his head up to look at Simon.

“Get out of there, mate,” Simon said. “I’m just here for a friendly chat.”

“Um… okay,” the shorter man opened his door and stepped forwards hesitantly, he looked much paler once he heard Simon’s voice. “You alright, mate?”

“Not exactly,” Simon stepped forwards, making you step aside from the two. “I live across from you and I’m planning to sleep soundly, but you seem to interfere with said plan. Lucky for you, Y/N talked me out of kicking your door down and ripping your throat, so you better turn your fucking noise down or I will do so and make it look like an accident.”

At first, the young man looked out of words. He was gapping.

“We’ll keep it down,” the younger man spelled.

“Good,” Simon nodded. “You do that.”

“I will,” the other one said.

Simon patted him on the shoulder, making him wince. 

“What’s your name?” Simon asked.

“Peter.”

“Peter,” Simon repeated. “I’m Ghost.”

Peter looked at you, genuinely intimidated. You only shrugged at him.

“I promise, you won’t hear a thing,” Peter insisted.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be this late in the night,” Simon nodded. “Now, go tell your friends that.”

“Alri—alright. I’m sorry,” Peter stammered before he went in and locked his door.

You and Simon looked at each other immediately. You chuckled lightly, seeing his eyes shifting slightly, showing his amusement.

“Thank you, Simon,” you said.

“It’s alright, love,” Simon said.

There was warmth blooming in your stomach when he said that. It could be the words or the way he said it.

“Well, go have your sound sleep, then,” you replied.

“You, too,” Simon said.

“I’ll see you around?” you said.

“Saturday,” Simon reminded.

“Saturday,” you repeated. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Simon responded with a nod. He waited until you got into your flat before leaving the area.

Eventually, another Saturday came that you would spend with him.

If you tried dressing up last time, you tried even harder this time. It was quite a leap from going on a date with your neighbour because you helped him fix his mask to going to a military ball with your neighbour because he felt like surprising his friends.

Simon himself was making sure that the uniform he would be wearing was flawless. He paid to get his uniform cleaned, he cleaned his pins and badges, he made sure his shoes were not covered in dust. Or blood. He tried not to wonder too much on how he managed to get blood onto his formal shoes.

When the time came, what surprised him was that Simon was more nervous about what you would look like than about how he would look like himself. He was nervous about what you would look like and what that might do to him.

When you opened the door, seeing Simon in full uniform—though still with his mask and skeleton gloves—was oddly the most dashing thing you had ever laid eyes on. You thought it would do nothing to you seeing that it would just be a skull man in a uniform, but he carried himself differently in this uniform.

The way Simon stood was different, the way he walked. Maybe in his field uniform he would carry himself differently, too. With a gun. Maybe a knife.

Even the way he looked at you was different. Simon looked more… relaxed somehow.

“Something on my face?” Simon asked.

“No, it’s… I’ve never seen you like this before,” you answered. “You look… great.”

“You should say that to yourself,” Simon said.

A moment passed that was contained with just you and Simon looking at each other before looking away, flustered.

“Shall we?” Simon proceeded, offering a hand to you.

Hesitantly at first, you took his hand and let him lead you both outside.

You both took a cab to the venue. Neither of you said anything on the way, really, but the way Simon hardly let go of your hand said enough. Whatever that meant.

Upon your arrival, immediately you noticed that people were looking in your direction. You looked down at your outfit, hoping that there was nothing wrong with it. Maybe there was something in your face?

No, they were definitely looking at Simon, right? He said it himself, he never really had gone into this sort of event.

When ignoring the looks got unbearable, you clutched into his arm a little tighter and leaned towards Simon a little.

“Do people stare at you this much?” you asked.

“They’re staring at you,” Simon answered. “No one wants to make eye contact with me.”

“No, they’re staring at you,” you insisted.

“Every time I look at these people, they’re still looking in my direction. That means they’re looking at you. If they were looking at me, they would’ve looked away immediately,” Simon explained.

“Ridiculous,” you chuckled.

Not far from there, Simon brought you towards a corner of the venue where there was a group of people making a messy circle. One of them happened to be a man with a mohawk.

At the moment, none of them were looking in your direction. So, when Simon joined the circle with you, they were shocked. Then, one of them let out a chuckle, an older man.

“LT!” the man with the mohawk greeted excitedly. “You’re here!”

“Johnny,” Simon replied.

You looked at Simon who gave you a little confirming nod.

“Are you the neighbour?” Soap asked.

“I supposed I am. Y/N should be enough,” you replied.

“Y/N… call me Soap,” he said.

“Simon constantly talked about you,” you stated.

“That’s not true,” Simon stated, turning you a little to the side. “This is my captain, John Price.”

“Glad to see there’s someone who gets to make Simon take a little bit of a risk,” the older man said.

“I’m sure he’s taking a lot of risk in this line of work,” you chuckled.

“He’s the smart one of the group,” the captain nodded.

“Yeah, he ghost to school,” Soap nodded.

Faintly, behind your chuckle, you heard Simon sighing, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“We didn’t have much hope that he’s going to be here at all and here he is with a date,” Soap said. “Speaking of dates—”

“Soap,” Simon cut off with a warning tone.

“Alright,” Soap opened his hands in surrender.Despite that, Soap and you exchanged a knowing smile with a hint of amusement.

The evening went on. In the beginning, you spent some time with Simon and his friends. It was an eye opening experience to see how these people treated Simon. 

Afterwards, you were moved to a table with said people with an addition of another sergeant called Gaz.

There was a ceremony. Dinner was right after.

Eventually, the event continued to a point that everyone moved on to the floor with their partners as the music started playing. The captain had stealthily moved away from everyone by then.

“Pretty sure I saw that sergeant with a pretty face. I’ll go that way,” Soap announced. “Big smile, LT.”

Soap’s laugh delivered his leave.

Now, only Simon and yourself were left where you stood. Smiling, you looked at Simon and found him already looking at you.

“He’s very nice,” you commented.

“I wish he wasn’t,” Simon sighed.

“I’m learning so much about you from him,” you said.

Simon only let out a hum.

A few songs later, the music turned into something slow and calm rather than the festive and loud ones. A lot of people were getting tipsy already.

It was both surprising and not surprising at the same time how much military personnels drink alcohol. Especially ones in active duty.

Simon decided that it was time that he stood up, hearing the shift of the music.

“Well, may I have this dance, then, Y/N?” Simon finally asked.

Simon had offered a hand to you.

“Please,” you smiled, taking his hand.

Once he held your hand, Simon pulled you to the dance floor. Blending in the dance floor, he gently positioned his hand on your waist whilst the other held your hand. You put your hands accordingly.

It could be how close you stood to Simon, but you felt the nerves again, the same one you felt when you noticed that people were looking at you. You kept reminding yourself that they were looking at Simon because they definitely were.

It was just now after spending some time with Simon’s friends that you noticed that these people were not looking at him in ways that you thought they were. They were curious, indeed, but there was a lot of respect in their gaze. It might even be the first time some of these people had ever seen Simon in person.

“Did I tell you you look nice?” Simon asked.

“It’s implied,” you answered, avoiding his gaze somewhat.

“You look gorgeous,” Simon said.

“You even more,” you said.

When you looked back at him, Simon brought your hand up to his face and gently pressed it against the mouth area of his mask. An oddly satisfying feeling came through as you felt his lips smooching the back of your hand through his mask.

The smile on your face grew out of control.

“You’re even more gorgeous when you smile,” Simon added.

“You need to stop,” you said, smiling even wider out of control.

“Or what?” Simon challenged.

Not giving him an answer, you only looked down.

“I’m sorry this is not as nice as you might’ve thought,” Simon said.

“No, it’s nice,” you said. “It’s an honour that you invite me to such an event.”

“I’ll take you somewhere nice next time,” Simon stated.

“Next time?” you repeated.

“I owe you another one for this,” Simon replied.

“What if I don’t want you to owe me anything for this one?” you replied.

“It’s not your call,” Simon said.

“If you insist, lieutenant, then, I’ll look forward to it,” you said.

Simon said nothing, but again he brought your hand to his lips and pressed his masked lips to the back of your hand. You felt yourself getting closer to him, keeping quite an eye contact.

You and Simon were there, gently rocking side to side as if there was no one around you and clearly as if no one was looking at you. Simon knew the consequences would be that people were going to talk about him more and in ways that they had never talked of him before.

Johnny, especially. He already had one thing to blackmail him and he hoped that by this he could counter that blackmail.

At the end of the night, Simon took you to leave quite early. His captain, Captain Price, kindly hitched you both a ride. He drove very carefully as the three of you filled your time with friendly conversations.

Once you arrived by your building, after thanking the captain, you and Simon made your way inside. Then, you got into the lift, out your floor.

One step into your floor and you both could hear that noisy neighbour again. Exchanging an exhausted look with Simon, you both rushed towards said neighbour’s door.

Simon looked like he was ready to kick the door down, but you put your hand on his chest, stopping him from doing so. For some time, he only looked at you as if he was planning to do a lot of things. One thing in particular.

Getting the better part of himself to take over, Simon pounded his fist against the door a couple of times. The flat went silent out of a sudden. Seconds passed before the door opened.

“I swear to fucking God, Peter,” Simon said. “Don’t make me kick you out of your fucking flat through the window.”

“I—I’m sorry. I saw you leave earlier so—”

“Not a fucking excuse, you fucking twat!” Simon cut off, stepping towards the younger man.

“Simon,” you gently called in a warning tone.

Simon looked back at you.

“Even if I’m not around, you better keep your noise down, Peter, or I will gun your fucking head down,” Simon pointed.

Peter opened his hands in surrender.

“Won’t happen again,” he said, eyeing you and Simon back to back. “Are you two together?”

“Keep your fucking noise down,” Simon said, shoving Peter back into his flat and shut the door.

Simon and you looked at each other immediately. You gave him a smile.

“Goodnight, Simon. Thank you for the invite. It was fun,” you said.

“You, too,” Simon nodded.

Again, you kissed the tips of your finger and pressed it on the mouth area of his mask.

“No, I don’t want that,” Simon said.

You raised an eyebrow at him, slightly tilting your head, and ignoring the hastening of your heartbeat.

Moving quickly, Simon untucked his mask from the collar of his uniform with his thumb as his other hand reached for your face. He led your face closer to him as he lifted his mask to his nose and latched your lips together.

It was brief and it was almost too quick, but it happened. When you looked at him again, Simon had already dropped his mask back down.

“Goodnight, love,” Simon said.

Only when Simon stepped away did you finally find your words back.

“Simon,” you called.

Simon looked back towards you.

“You wanna stay the night over?” you offered.

“I literally live here,” Simon said.

“Do you want to?” you continued.

Simon slowly walked his way back to you and your smile slowly grew as he got closer.

“Alright,” Simon decided before leaning into your ear. “Mask stays on, no matter what.”

Smiling, you pecked him on the mask before bringing him into your flat.

Part 1 Part 2

Crônicas de Amor e Ódio - Mary E. Pearson

Ordem dos livros

The Kiss of Deception - Vol. 1: Plante ilusões e você colherá do mundo grandes decepções

The Heart of Betrayal - Vol. 2: O segundo volume da fantasia mais amada do ano

The Beauty of Darkness - Vol. 3: O volume final da fantasia que arrebatou os leitores brasileiros

Descrição do livro #1

A força feminina é a grande estrela neste romance de Mary E. Pearson.Tudo parecia perfeito, um verdadeiro conto de fadas – menos para a protagonista dessa história. Morrighan é um reino imerso em tradições, histórias e deveres, e a Primeira Filha da Casa Real, uma garota de 17 anos chamada Lia, decidiu fugir de um casamento arranjado que supostamente selaria a paz entre dois reinos através de uma aliança política. O jovem príncipe escolhido se vê então obrigado a atravessar o continente para encontrá-la a qualquer custo. Mas essa se torna também a missão de um temido assassino. Quem a encontrará primeiro? O primeiro volume das Crônicas de Amor e Ódio evoca culturas do nosso mundo e as transpõe para a história de forma magnífica. Através de uma escrita apaixonante e uma convincente narrativa, o romance de Pearson é capaz de mudar a nossa concepção entre o bem e o mal e nos fazer repensar todos os estereótipos aos quais estamos condicionados. É um livro sobre a importância da autodescoberta, do amor e como ele pode nos enganar, e de uma protagonista em busca de sua liberdade e felicidade a qualquer custo.

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Wild Horses

Part 3

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Doctor!Reader, other characters x reader

Part 1 , Part 2

A/N: Part 3 is finally here y’all! Sorry it took such a while to finally upload, I have been extremely burnt out and needed some time to recharge after completing my semester. Therefore I have made this chapter extra long! Also sorry if it in any way feels rushed, I tried to get this posted as soon as possible since it has long been due. Let me know if you would like some more dynamics between the reader and the other characters. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated, I love hearing y'alls thoughts and things that you enjoyed! (Also this chapter contains a surprise guest!) 💜💜💜

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings and notes: language, violence, blood and gore, fluff, angst, slow-burn, slight implication of past abuse.

(Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor nor have any professional knowledge or experience involving surgical procedures. I am just a student studying in the medical field who has just started taking courses that are more degree-related. So I apologize if some of the stuff may be inaccurate.)

🍂That night, the same night Ghost saw you on that roof, your face illuminated by the stars and the moon that seemed to pale in comparison to you, he had returned to his own quarters as stealthily as he had came. His presence had always gone unnoticed both to you and the others at this time of night, a time of night when even the nightingales had laid down to rest, exhausted from their song. When he settled himself in bed that night, his torso covered by his blanket and his arm propped up on the pillow to rest under his head, he could not sleep, staring at the ceiling just as he did the night before. His body begged for a moment’s rest, anything to let his consciousness slip away in order to escape the reality of this world in which only sleep could provide. But in spite of the efforts of his nervous system, his mind contested for a few more minutes of wakefulness, moments that would only turn into hours.

🍂There was always this unspoken battle within Simon Riley, a battle of peace and conflict, a constant struggle between giving in to the comforts of life and leaving everything behind, or preoccupying himself with his current line of work that seemed to be the only thing that kept his thoughts at bay. But starting a new life? That was something that was not cut out for him. His past was and will always be his present and his future. Society had no place for people like Simon Riley, and he it. I’m telling you, this man needs therapy, bad. And one hell of a vacation.

Never in a day of his miserable life did he know you would be thrown into the mix. You, a woman of better upbringing, a woman so delicate and blinded with hope, a woman who shared the warmth of her spirit with all whom she knew. And yet, here she was, wasting her time away in a place with the likes of them, where war consumed every living soul that ever crossed its path. God were you naïve, and completely fucking daft, he had thought to himself many times, a doctor like you leaving the hospital in the city for a place like this. Jesus. Either you were a complete fool or the military offered you a shit ton of money. Or perhaps it was your youth. After all, you were younger than the rest of them. He believed a woman of your degree should not be here amongst men like them. You were soft, tried too hard to see the good in people, and one day, one day, that might be your downfall.

Sometimes he’d find himself hoping you would transfer somewhere else. And the more he thought on the subject, the more he came to despise you being here, part of the reason why he avoided you in the first place. And yet, as the days went by, the man had developed a bit of a soft spot for you as they might say. But don’t tell him that or else he might just loose another one of his knives. Truth of the matter was, he had seen what war had done, even to the best of people. And with no disrespect, a young woman like you would get eaten up alive in a place like this.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he did not want to see you wound up in this chaos. So what would he do? He'd often times monitor your activity, and by that I mean he would on some occasions check up on you, in his own avoidant way of course, whether it be making sure you woke up by standing around the corner to see you trudge along to the coffee maker in your white coat, or catching you finish your shift when you left your office in the evening. By this time, you'd be surprised to know that he has grown familiar with part of your schedule, from when you leave your room and make yourself a cup of coffee in the morning before heading into your office, to what time you have your little lunch, down to the hour of the evening when you leave your office after your shift has ended. He calls it "running a constructive operation", but you and I both know what it is. Despite his cold, masked exterior, he's not completely heartless and does want to make sure you're safe, as with the rest of his teammates.

At the same time, your safety also depends on your environment, and there is only so much a few men can do. Perhaps it would be best if you were somehow convinced to go back to the states and leave, lest this place will end up devouring every last bit of vibrancy that radiated in you. And if that meant being callous towards you and making your time here a living hell, as if you did not belong, so be it. I know it sounds like he absolutely loathes you but I promise it only seems that way.

The man obviously has trouble sleeping, which was nothing new to him, a good nights rest was something of a rarity in his case. But now it was you he found inhabiting the walls of his mind, and frankly, he found it to be quite a nuisance. And as if to make matters worse, tonight it was your voice that haunted his thoughts, that siren-like voice that rung out softly underneath the pale moonlight as if he were a sailor awaiting to plummet to his death down into the abyss of the deep indigo waters below.

He needed sleep, desperately, and if he did not get it soon he might just go insane. That’s to say he isn’t already. And despite finding you to be the cause of the whole ordeal behind it, behind him not being able to shut his eyes and fall into a short-lived coma, you were still the only doctor here and just how was he supposed to go about that. Usually people go to doctors if they have trouble sleeping, but how the fuck was he supposed to go to you. He couldn’t just walk in your office and ask if you had anything strong enough to knock him out. Sure there was always alcohol but that meant dealing with a hangover and you most likely sending him a pamphlet about the dangers of alcoholism without even knowing like some kind of psychic. On the other hand, knowing how you were, if he were to mention his symptoms you would just ask him a bunch of questions. And then what was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t sleep because you tormented and occupied his thoughts??? Never. He decides it’s better to just deal with it.

And boy oh boy your singing did not help. You reminded him of the nightingales that used to nest in the tree outside his bedroom window in his childhood home. You and your guitar, singing your song out into the night for someone out there, whomever and wherever they were. The song and your voice an empty promise, a false hope for the things that never were and never might come. And yet, despite his slight demurral towards you, in the days to come, he came to find comfort in your voice, his feet finding their way to the rooftop to see if you would be there.

On the nights that you were there, he would sit against the wall away from your line of sight, hidden in the shadows and listening to your voice, the only thing that kept him sane and dare say, even bring him an ounce of peace. He would say it was to make sure you don’t pull anything stupid or draw unnecessary attention towards yourself. But truth was, though he could not see it within himself, maybe he was watching over you, making sure no harm came your way. Little would he know, that your voice and the serenity of your aura would soon come to remind him of home, of the days where it was just him and his mother and the nightingales perched on the tree outside his bedroom window, the sound of your voice lulling him to a much needed sleep that his body craved.

Now back to the current.

That next morning you had woken up from the sun shining down on your face, its rays hot against your cheeks as you squinted against the bright light, pulling your blanket over your head with a groan before bolting upright, eyes widened with alarm. Oh shit, what time was it? You look at the watch on your wrist, eyes widening even more to see that it was NOON????? It's fucking noon?

"Fucking shit." You let out a string of curses between your teeth, grabbing your things off the floor only to get up with a gasped groan from the sharp needle-like sensations that shot up your spine, your back hunched over like a shrimp with kyphosis. You wince, hissing as you attempt to straighten yourself out, letting out a couple ows from the cracking sound that came out from between your vertebrae. Boy were you an idiot. Never sleep on cement, now your hips and back feel like they were broken in by the Hulk and you're willing to bet there would be bruises.

You could have sworn you looked like one of those grandmas depicted in the cartoons, wincing almost each time you took a step. A frown pulled on your lips as you headed towards the door that led back to the building, opening it up and nearly whining at the sight of the stairs spanning out below you. "Fuck my life."

You make sure to take your time going down, not wanting to tumble down the steps and risk a broken limb or concussion only to have one of the men patch you up and risk getting an infection. It's not that you don't trust their handiwork......but you don’t. And the thought of having your prefrontal cortex accidentally removed shakes you to your core. Don't tell them that though, you'd probably hurt their feelings.

"Y/n." You hear someone calling your name in the distance, turning your head to see Price heading in your direction.

God damn it, out of all the people to see you in this state. Don't tell anyone but Price is your workplace crush. I mean if we're being honest the whole team is fine as hell. But you loved his snarky sense of humor, his kind eyes and smile, and the way his eyes seemed to disappear into these curved crescent-shaped lines whenever he smiled or laughed. And now as he stood in front of you, his bulky frame towering over yours. You're praying there aren’t any spots of snot on your face from the way you bawled your eyes out last night.

"Oh fuck me." You inaudibly curse under your breath, knowing damn well that to hope he doesn't notice how you literally look a sleep-deprived Quasimodo would be damn near impossible.

"Where've you been? I was beginning to get worried." Price asks, looking over your hunched state that oddly paired with your puffy eyes and face. "Jesus Mary Joseph. Are you alright?"

"Yup, it's just allergies." You nod your head with a strained smile. "Perfectly peachy."

"Do you need any help?"

"Nope! I'm fine." You hurry past him. "I'm going to take a shower so whoever is in there right now tell them to hurry up."

Price watches you go with furrowed brows, wondering whatever the hell happened to you before shaking his head with a shrug and heading towards the showers to make sure it was empty for you. During your time there, the team had sorted out to give you a designated time slot for when you preferred to bathe, wanting to ensure that you received your privacy because of there only being shared showers, something which was common with being in the military. They had even given your own designated shower head. But even then, you always went in and came out fully dressed with both your towels and your clothes, terrified with the idea of the men seeing you in nothing but a towel once you stepped out. Luckily for you, no one was in there when you had arrived. When you hurried in there with your fresh pair of clothes and towels bundled in your arms, that had to be the quickest shower you had ever taken, other than the times you almost slept through your alarms and missed your exams back in med school.

So by the time you step out of your room with your white coat, empty coffee mug in hand and your hair barely brushed through looking like Dr. Emmet Brown, you don't even bother to put on any makeup or concealer to hide the fact that you had been crying last night, you already had a late start to the day as it was.

Going over to the kitchen, you groggily place your mug on the counter, staring at the pasty tiles for a good minute to gather your thoughts and remember just what it was your were doing in the first place before turning on the coffee maker only to see that it isn't working. "You have got to be kidding me." Honest to god if I don't have coffee in the morning I will commit a felony.

"There's no use meddling with that." Price comes up beside you, watching the way you moved the small machine around and smacked the sides with your palms. "I'm afraid it's broken."

"Broken?" You turn to the older gentleman, trying your best to mask your annoyance at yet another misfortune to add to your list of shit that happened today so you don't get written up for having an attitude or whatever it is they do here for uncompliant personnel. "What do you mean it's broken?" What you mean to say is, how the hell are you going to get through the day without your daily dose of caffeine? You were not in the mood for a caffeine withdrawal, not now.

"You'll have to blame MacTavish for that." Damn this man just threw him under the bus no hesitation.

"Soap? How?”

"Bloke put the coffee grounds where the water is supposed to go."

"He put the.......what?" You squint with a scrunch of your nose, trying to picture the young Scotsman mixing up the steps for the coffee grounds and water before pinching the bridge of your nose with a shake of your head. It's too damn early for this. Bitch it's literally the afternoon.

“You look like shite.” Price teases you of your completely disheveled appearance. Honestly he thinks you look pretty cute in a I just had 15 shots of espresso and forgone a whole week’s worth of sleep kind of way. Price is the type of man to see you at your worst looking like a corpse from the grave and dig it, with some concern for your overall health and well-being of course.

“Gee thanks.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Happier than a kid at Disneyland.” You roll your eyes before slipping out a small groan, burying your head in your arms upon the counter and muttering something along the lines of how you’re going to euthanize yourself.

“Oi. There’ll be none of that, you hear?”

“Wait and see.” You mumble to yourself but Price hears it anyway.

“Cheer up. I got you something.” You hear Price say to you before hearing something being placed on the counter.

"Is it benzoylmethylecgonine?" You mumble out.

"What?"

"Benzoylmethylecgonine." Your voice is louder this time but still muffled from your arms.

"The fuck is that?"

".................cocaine."

"Jesus Mary Joseph." Price rolls his eyes. “You’re a character, you. Why don’t you give it a look eh?”

You slightly lift your head from your arms, peering over to see a cup next to you.

"For ya." Price smiles as he pushes the cup towards you, watching you stare at the thing with skepticism.

"Well. Go on."

"Is that-?"

"Coffee.”

"Yeah I know that but-“ you lift yourself up to stare at the thing with a tilt of your head. “where the hell did you get it?”

"From a small coffee shop down a couple blocks."

Right. "What kind is it?”

"Iced caramel macchiato. Heard you mentioning it the other day."

"Oh. You did?” You blink. "You didn't have to do all that."

"Eh it's nothin, my treat. The men and I needed our caffeine too, and well, since Soap broke the machine, we needed to get it one way or another.” All but Simon of course. Dude hates coffee.

“What, did you tell him he's buying?"

“No.” Price leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares off into the distance in thought. “Now that I think about it I should’ve, aye?”

"Poor Soap." You shake your head with a chuckle, grabbing the cup to take a sip. “Oh......oh that hit the spot.”

Okay remember when the boys were competing with giving you little gifts and I said that Price showed his appreciation for you in other ways? This is what I mean. He makes sure you’re taken care of and that your little needs and requests are met. Though rare as composed to Soap's little visits, he likes to stop in your office at times, peeking his head through your cracked door and asking if there is anything you need. This man’s love language is acts of service, I’m sure of it.

“Proper innit.” Price chuckles at your blissed expression.

“Hm. Chef’s kiss.” You take another sip of your coffee as you lean back against the counter, savoring in the cold, smokey, buttery liquid as it went down your throat.

“The hell is on your feet.” Price nods towards your shoes.

“They’re my crocs.” You give a hurt look, the ends of your lips pulled into a frown.

“They’re downright hideous.”

“They’re comfortable!!!” You defend. “I even put little buttons on it.” You lift one of your feet up to show him.

“Doesn’t make it any less hideous.”

"You should try looking in a mirror first before you come talking to me about what's hideous and what's not." You snark, a teasing tone in your voice that catches the older man off guard.

Price is stunned, mouth slightly agape as he is surprised to see such a statement come from a person as demure as you, and dare say even aroused, at being affronted by someone smaller than him. "You cheeky girl." Price shifts his weight, pressing his tongue against his molars before tightening his jaw. "You've got a sharp tongue on you."

"Don't insult my crocs." You lift your chin with a raised brow, a smug expression on your face as you lift your coffee cup to your lips.

As Price and you talked, Ghost had appeared in the far corner, his eyes lowered to the ground and not a single thought behind them before hearing the sound of Price's voice. Stopping in his tracks, he peers around the corner, not wanting to look conspicuous but also curious to see who it was the captain was speaking to, looking over to see the two of you together engaged in a conversation looking a bit too comfy.

The soldier froze, tensing at the sound of you laughing and Price……flirting? Was the man flirting with you? Ghost watched the way Price leaned in ever so slightly in your direction, a slight yet noticeable shift in his demeanor as he told you a joke, the way your cheeks swelled as you snorted, your smile hidden behind the cup held in your hands in an attempt to hold back a laugh, and the way he reached a hand out to adjust the collar of your white coat. He is not jealous he is not jealous he his not jealous. Once again, HE IS NOT JEALOUS. Looking away from the scene, he turned back around and headed back to where he came. He had no reason to feel threatened by the situation, it’s not like he felt anything towards you or if you meant anything to him. And yet, why did it irk him to see you laughing with Price like that.

That was the first he had heard you laugh, though as light and brief as it was. He could tell it wasn’t your true full-hearted laugh, the ones that left you gasping for air as tears welled up at the corner of your eyes. He had seen those laughs many times at the pub from the groups of friends that gathered together after a long day of work or when they had just left from a futbol match, times when he craved a glass of whisky. The laugh you had let out right now wasn’t one of those full chested laughs, this one was different, more timid, like fresh rain in the middle of spring, where fog blanketed and seeped through the meadows and trees, where dewdrops patterned themselves like mosaics upon the blades of grass and the petals of roses. This laugh was light and airy, crisp to his ears, and it had sent a slight shiver down the stone-hearted soldier that he had never once felt before.

He convinces himself that what he saw between the two of you was none of his concern and that who you fancy is none of his business, and yet why did he find your little interaction with Price to bother him? Better yet, why does he find himself wishing he had made you laugh instead?

It should also be mentioned that Ghost did not fulfill the task he had promised himself when he said he would throw away the Dum Dum lollipops you had given him last night, thinking your little form of bribery to be quite inane. What did you take him for, a child? Regardless of the many times he stared at those two pieces of candy with your little note next to them, your graceful and sophisticated handwriting a strange polarity to the bright and colorful wrapped candy often meant for children, curiosity had gotten the best of him, as well as midnight cravings.

And alas, with numerous stealing glances toward the lollipops and his mouth watering for just a quick sample, the man had given in. And let’s just say, he’s addicted. I mean, I was not lying when I said this man has the sweet tooth of Augustus Gloop. Also, he may or may not have snuck into your office the next morning to steal a lollipop or two, or three, before rushing out the door. So you should probably hide the those things before you walk in on an empty tray one day.

"Also, I wanted to let you know that Alejandro, Ghost, and Soap and I will be heading out on a mission later today. Gaz will be staying behind just to make sure nothing happens here while we're away." Price informs you.

"What time will you be back?"

"Not till late. If everything runs smoothly, there's no need to wait up for us."

“Geez. Will it be dangerous?” Your brows furrow at the center. You knew what their job entailed, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

“Well that’s part of our job now innit.” Price smirks.

"Just………make sure to come back in one piece alright. I'm not trying to perform any amputations today." You scrunch your nose in a teasing manner, though your words mean more than what your voice gives away.

"Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours. We'll be back like before aye.” Price gives you a comforting smile, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb and forefinger against the bottom of your chin before dropping it back down at his side. Though the action was small and brief, an informal unveiling of the captain’s fondness towards you, that didn’t stop your face from heating up faster than a hot pocket in the microwave. You were sure one would burn their hands if they grazed your cheek.

The others had soon cluttered into the area where you were, chatting amongst themselves before turning towards you and price, the sudden group of movement causing you to clear your throat and step just the slightest inch away.

"Hey doc." The men greeted you, their faces brightening upon seeing you before glancing down at your bright crocs.

"The fuck are those?"

"Oh my god. Don't tell me you guys have never seen crocs before." You exhale, your voice coming out in a scoff.

"Why are they called crocs?" Soap questions, brows furrowed with confusion. You and me both Soap, I don't have a clue either.

"Looks like something my abuela would wear." Alejandro comments, a mischievous glint in his eyes at teasing you.

“Que te folle un pez (get fucked by a fish).”

Alejandra is stunned from the words that just came out from your lips, cocking his head back and tilting it as he looked at you with surprised amusement. He never knew you spoke Spanish. Maybe it came with being a doctor and being around people all the time. On top of that, was this the first time he had heard you curse? Was that a stroke of confidence he heard from your mouth? Was he offended? Was he turned on? He couldn’t tell.

But as Alejandro still stood there, silent against your remark, the others begin to wonder just what it was that you said that had him like this.

“Uh what’d she say?” Soap leans over to whisper to Alejandro, his eyes darting between the two of you as did the other men.

“Ahora, ¿dónde aprendiste una cosa así, eh? (Now where did you learn such a thing, huh?)” Alejandro nods his head towards you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Conoces gente de todo tipo cuando eres médico. Y además, el idioma era parte de mi plan de estudios de todos modos. (You meet all kinds of people when you're a doctor. And besides, language was part of my curriculum anyway.)” You shrug your shoulders, taking a sip of your coffee as your eyes meet Alejandro’s dark ones over the lid of your cup.

Alejandro chuckles, pointing at you with a smirk. “Bueno, será mejor que tengas cuidado cariño. Palabras como esa pueden meterte en problemas. (Well, you'd better be careful, sweetheart. Words like that can get you in trouble.)”

“No te preocupes por mí. Soy una niña grande Me licencié y todo. (Do not worry about me. I'm a big girl. I’ve got a degree and all.)”

“What are they saying?” Soap asks again, this time to Gaz.

“How would I know?” Gaz hisses, obviously annoyed with not knowing what the two of you were conversing about. Were the two of you planning a date? Were you plotting a scheme? Were you making fun of the rest of the team? The boys definitely didn't like being left out from a conversation, especially from you.

“I didn’t know you can speak Spanish.” Soap turns to you.

“Well it seems here that our little doctora is full of surprises.” Alejandro comments, making you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

“Right.” Gaz squints at you in a jest, adding on to the men poking fun at you. “Now really doc, what the fuck is on your feet?”

"Oh screw y'all, they're comfy for my feet alright." You roll your eyes at the way they tease you about your choice of footwear, though in all honesty, you're not able to hide the smile that tugs at the ends of your lips, that is until a certain someone appears.

Ghost is the last one to show up, hoping to have avoided your presence. But when he sees you still there leaning against the counter, his eyes lock with yours before looking away as if you had never even existed in the first place.

You're almost sure he hates you, chewing on the inside of your cheek from the way he looked you over like a speck of dirt on his boot before completely ignoring your being. You have no clue why he is the way he is around you, wondering if he had seen the note you left on his door. He has to have seen it right? He’s got to. And then it hits you, at least you think. Maybe your little detail of adding the lollipops had offended him, and you’re almost terrified to think what he thought of them. On top of that, he still had never bothered to show up for his blood results. So he truly was avoiding you on purpose, wasn’t he. You wish you knew the reason behind his avoidant behavior. Did he find you disgusting? Was that a possible reason? Had you somehow at some point offended him? Were you going to end up on his hit list? Maybe. Were you going to die some mysterious death by his hands tonight? Sounds likely.

“Alright you lot. Let’s get moving.” Price gestures the men to follow him before turning back to you. “We won’t be long. Gaz, you know the rules.”

“Yessir.” Gaz nods his head before stepping over to you, looking down at you drinking your coffee with a soft smile on his face. “I’m sure this day will go by smoothly.”

“Oof. Don’t jinx it.”

You wish he had not said those last words.

You had spent most of the day relaxing as Price had suggested when the men left, their gear strapped to their forms and their guns locked and loaded. A strange scene I might add, if one were to walk into the area of the building and see a group of bulky hardened soldiers and then you, a young woman in a white coat and scrubs and her special decorated crocs along with her vintage Donald Duck watch. You almost looked out of place with the war-ridden atmosphere.

When you had stepped into your office the first time that day, you were surprised to see a slight change in your usual environment, the lack of an apple at your desk. This absence, though small and what one might call insignificant, had saddened you to a certain degree. Though at first you found the little act to be annoying, of finding the red fruit there every morning placed upon your desk, as time went by, you had grown accustomed to it a bit. So when you noticed the absence of the apple after expecting to see it just like the days before, it had lowered your spirits. Though you did not know the meaning or intention behind the gesture or the person directly involved behind it, it had come to bring you a sense of security, a slight token of someone’s watchful eye over you. Or at least that’s what you believed it to be. Little did you it was just a simple act involving the confusion of idioms.

But imagine your confusion when in place of the lack of an apple, you instead find your tray of lollipops looking a little less full than it was yesterday. Had someone broken into your office or were you just loosing your mind. And as you inspect the little tray, you're even more surprised to find a distinct black, powdery substance smeared against the side of it, right on the edge. Using your thumb, you wipe it off the side of the tray, raising your hand to further inspect the foreign substance to see that it looks a lot like eyeshadow.

"Huh. That's strange."

Ooooooo someone just got caught.

With the men gone, all except Gaz of course, you went about reading more chapters of your book, lounging about on the couch in the common area before your nerves got the better of you and you decided to do some cleaning around the area, to which Gaz had offered some help, with much eagerness in his end. Gaz of course had kept watch, letting you lead the conversations as the two of you made small talk every once in a while before going back to your little tasks, you with your paperwork and inventory of medical supplies and Gaz with his patrol.

During the moments where the two of you did talk, you began to unravel little details about each other, details mostly involving Gaz since you still preferred to keep your walls up. You called it being professional, but those who were close to you would call it a fear to let others in. Perhaps they were right. After your father’s death, you had rarely let anyone in, sometimes not even your own self. And Gaz, being the sweet soul that he was, never pressured you to reveal anything you did not want to. He wouldn’t ask about your personal life or your past unless you offered to.

The more the two of you talked, the more you learned little things about the soldier that you never knew, like his love of the ocean and how he had wanted to become a marine biologist when he was a little boy, as well as how his favorite sea creatures were, and still are, sea otters and sea turtles. He had even mentioned how his favorite movie was Nemo growing up, with Crush being his favorite character. In fact, the movie was what inspired him to study in that field in the first place. He was extremely almost embarrassed to release that bit of info to you, scared that you might pass it on to the team and that he’d never hear the end of it. When that little bit of information slipped from his tongue, he practically begged you not to tell the others. So imagine his relief when you stick your pinky out in an offer to make a pinky promise on it. You honestly find it kind of cute.

As time dragged on and when the day had become night, when the sun had long passed the horizon to lay to rest, you had grown quite weary waiting for the men to return, and oh was there a sight waiting for them to behold once they did. Your little act of cleaning around the house had drained a good amount of your energy, eventually causing you to crash out on the couch with your head resting against Gaz’s shoulder. Your legs were curled up on the cushion of the sofa, your book placed open on your lap after Gaz had asked if you could read to him, curious about the story within the binding. But the late hour combined with the cleaning around had pulled a yawn from your chest as you read the pages out loud, your voice low and muzzy and your words drawling out as your eyes scanned the printed letters before another yawn escaped your lips, and another, then another, before everything became blurry and you slowly drifted off to a deep sleep.

Even Gaz, who was supposed to stay watch, had fallen asleep beside you, his head thrown back on the back of the couch and his mouth slightly parted as soft little snores escaped it. He was never one to fall asleep on duty, known for his control over his mental fortitude. But the poor soldier had soon followed suit, infected by by your fatigue as he too yawned after each time you did. In that time, he smiled down softly as he watched you grow tired next to him, resting your head unconsciously on his shoulder and chuckling at the sight of the thin line of drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth.

He almost felt relieved, and comforted to see this side of you, after having seen you do nothing but shove your nose into paperwork and files on top of staying on guard to take care of them and make sure no serious injury happens on your watch. And as he watched you, making sure to stay as still as possible as to not wake you, your soft breathing and the warmth radiating off your body had finally pulled him in, until eventually, his state of alertness fell limp, his head rolling back as he too drifted off shortly after you.

You don’t know long you had been asleep, nor did you know you had your face smushed up against Gaz’s shoulder, your lips parted slightly and your drool pooling into a wet spot on the fabric of his jacket. If you did, you don’t think you’d be able to look him in the eye from how embarrassed you’d be. Not only did you most likely cause his arm to cramp up and fall asleep under your weight, but you had also marked his shoulder with your saliva. And if the others were to see this, they would have a kick out of it, with Soap taking multiple pictures at unflattering angles and teasing the two of you for the days to follow. And in a short matter of time, they would have seen it, stumbling upon the scene if they had not burst through the front door like a team of SWAT.

The sound of the door slamming open and their shouts had startled you awake, their voices echoing through the front of the building and making you sit up in your seat.

“What the-“ you mutter out groggily, squinting against the dryness of your eyes and not even paying mind to how you had completely crashed out. Where they back?

“Sounds like trouble.” Gaz had also woken up next to you, quickly getting up from the sofa and rushing towards the commotion as you followed closely behind.

You almost froze at the scene, watching the men come into the area with their faces worn out and beaded with sweat and spots of blood. You knew what they were getting into, what their job required of them, yet seeing them return from the mission first hand had in some way unsettled you. Sure, you had worked in the ER during your residency. You had seen conditions far worse than this, patients suffering from injuries ranging of a varying degree as they were wheeled around, gruesome wounds that still at times scarred your memories till this day. And yet, why did this seem to daunt you far worse than anything you had seen in the emergency department. It's almost as if you forgot these men were killers, and you didn't quite know how to feel about that.

Alejandro had been the first to step into the area, carrying an injured Soap under his arm and helping the Scot walk next to him as he muttered some words of encouragement in Spanish.

“What-what happened?”

“Nada serio querida. No te preocupes. (Nothing serious love. Don't worry.)” Alejandro answers simply, groaning under Soap's weight and from his own injuries.

“Nada serio querida.” Soap copies what Alejandro had said with a limp in each of his steps, his face pale from the loss of blood from his wound as he gives you a smile to assure you that everything was in fact fine, though we all know this isn’t the case.

“Well it sure as damn well looks serious to me Alejandro.” You remark as you hurry over to help the man set Soap down carefully on a chair, your voice slipping the hint of your father’s accent, a small habit that revealed itself whenever you got upset over something. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to tread carefully around me, I'm not made of glass you know."

Alejandro fell quiet as he watched you try to examine Soap, taken aback by this more....authoritative side of you, not that he had any reason to be surprised, you were a physician after all and this sort of conduct was necessary especially since people's lives were in your hands. He had not intended to alarm or offend you, the reason why he said those words in the first place, but the situation itself had managed to speak much louder than his words could ever manage. And in this moment, maybe it's best to let you be in charge.

Your eyes scattered about the area as the others soon came through, focusing on each and every one of them to try to gauge both their mental and physical state. Ghost was the next to enter right after Price, his blackened eyes from behind his mask meeting your concerned ones for a brief and fleeting moment before looking away. The skull-masked soldier was supporting another man, another masked soldier you had not seen before, one whose stature towered over everyone around him, even Simon Riley himself, whom you have thought to be tall enough already. Y'all already know who it is.

“Sir-“ you spoke up to the troubled-looking captain as he walked up to you, your eyes studying the wounded and bloodied scene behind him. You don't know what the hell happened back there, but you didn't need to hear the details to know it wasn't good. “Is everything alright? The hell happened?”

“Y/n.” Price finally stood in front of you, his hand placed on your shoulder as means of reassurance, or even a way to steady his exhausted body as he turned back to his men, running his fingers through his beard before looking you in the eye. “We were ambushed. Suffered a few injuries but we got the most of em.”

“You sure? Y’all look like you took quite the beating.” You state lightheartedly but more so from a place of worry and sympathy. “Listen Captain, if you don't mind, I need to take a look at these men."

“Right. Right.” Price nods his head, breathless from the mission. His countenance was masked behind an aura of composure as he looked over his injured soldiers, but one look at his eyes told you otherwise. He was tense, nonetheless, and you could clearly see the restlessness behind them from the way he held responsibility over the lives of his men, believing himself to be accountable if any harm should come to them.

“Do you have any wounds I need to take a look at sir? Any trauma to the head? Any lacerations or punctures?"

“No. No, I’m fine.”

"It'll be alright." You give the man a comforting smile, placing a hand on his arm to provide the only means of consolation you can give him in a moment like this.

“Thank you.” Price returns your smile, placing his hand over yours and giving it a soft squeeze. Though he felt contrite for throwing such a burden on your shoulders, he knew that you were the only person qualified enough around here given the circumstances, and he could not be more grateful for your presence. "Just....let me know if you need any help."

"Of course."

The men were badly beaten from what you observed as you examined them. A few fresh bruises marked their bodies, nothing terribly serious, but Soap, Alejandro, and the new guy were the only ones who had sustained more serious injuries. MacTavish had taken a bullet to the thigh, but luckily for him, the bullet had missed his femoral artery as well as any major nerves in the area. The poor Scotsman had felt bad for disturbing you at such a late hour such as this. But you had reassured him time and time again that this was part of your job, and that you had read over the part of the contract that said you would mostly be on-call when you signed your name at the bottom.

Soap doesn't know why he was so on edge as you operated on him. He’s nervous, extremely nervous. And what does Soap do when he’s nervous? He talks, like a lot, like a lot a lot and I don’t mean that lightly. I mean this man just talks your ear off while you’re wiping away any excess blood on his thigh and practically knuckles deep into his bullet wound. This man had been shot before so why should this be any different. Was it the local anesthetic you had injected into him? Or was it because you were a practicing physician and therefore would be able to pinpoint the finer details and eventually break some kind of devastating news to him like "I hate to break this to you Soap but I'm afraid I'm going to need to perform an amputation." Also I genuinely believe this man is afraid of needles. Don't ask me how I know. I just know.

"Y/n." Soap speaks up, gulping from the question that is about to spill from his lips as he watches you disinfect his wound.

"Hm?" You hum, focused on cleaning the area where the bullet had lodged itself.

"Am I gonna loose my leg?"

"What?" You stop, raising your head to give him a weird look. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Don' know. Ye look pretty serious..........................ya sure I'm not gonna loose my leg?" He asks again, the panic in his voice more evident this time as an image is generated in his mind of him having a wooden pegleg like some kind of pirate.

"No. No you're not going to loose your leg Soap. You're just fine.” You go back to mending his bullet wound. “If anything, you're just going to get a few stitches. I am going to have to leave the bullet in place though, so don’t fret.”

"Yer leavin the bullet in there?" Soap's face pales after hearing your statement, eyes wide as he stares at you like you’re some kind of lunatic.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can feel you staring at me like I’m crazy. The reason I’m leaving the bullet in your leg is because it’s not in a fatal area that needs removal, and it's going to do more damage than good if I take it out. And besides, your body will build a sort of......wall of scar tissue around it so you'll be fine.” You try to explain to him in a way he can understand.

“I will?”

"I promise. Now once I’m done here I'm going to prescribe you some antibiotics and pain relievers as well as an ointment to help with the healing process and keeping away infections. Just make sure to get some rest and go easy on that leg of yours and you'll be up and running in no time."

"Oh.....okay."

Poor Soap is still nervous, despite your words of consolation. So in order to ease the tension he decides to crack a few jokes, a trait that has become familiar with his teammates, much to their annoyance, whenever he's out on the field. Whether it's for his own welfare or yours, we may never know. Perhaps it’s for both, but let's just say it’s more so for his own sanity. And the way he jumps from one joke to another only makes you question how the previous medics ever sat through it.

"Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?"

"No."

"Great food. No atmosphere."

"Jesus."

"..............Hey y/n."

"Yes Soap?" You’re pretty sure this is the 45th joke he’s told you so far and now you’re just concerned for his mental well-being. But you also want to know where the hell he got all of these jokes in the first place.

"Why do seagulls fly over the ocean?"

Oh god. "Why?" You ask, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come next.

"Because if they flew over the bay, we'd call them bagels."

Jesus fucking christ. At this point you're positive your eyes are going to pop out from your sockets from how hard you are trying to stop yourself from rolling them. "Soap-"

"Yeah?"

"Please hold still."

Alejandro on the other hand was especially quiet while you tended to his wound, a gash on the proximal part of his arm on the lateral end, just below the acromial region, left from the bullet that grazed it. If he did speak, it would be small little words of motivation, sprinkled with terms of endearment in Spanish as he told you how good of a job you were doing, which you thought to be a risky thing to do considering you were sticking a needle in his flesh to sew his wound shut. He'd even tell you short little stories about his life before here, some of which may have elicited a soft chuckle from your frowning lips, a stern look that always unconsciously formed on your face whenever you were focused on something. He finds your little look of concentration quite cute honestly, the way you'd sometimes pout and squint your eyes. But most of all, he admired how calm and collected you were at such a task, as if you were doing something as simple as stitching the seams of fabric together.

He tried his best to soothe you, seeing the strained look on your face and imagining the stress you must be under, knowing when it would be best to offer you silence so that you may focus on the work at hand. And when you were done suturing his wound and wrapping fresh gauze around his arm, he pulls you in to give you a warm hug, which catches you off guard since you’re still wearing nitrile surgical gloves spotted with his blood and practically reek of alcohol-based solutions and the bleach-like scent of antiseptics. Regardless of how you look and smell like chemicals, the man only pulls you in tighter, wrapping his uninjured arm around the top of your back with his hand squeezing the back of your shoulder as he thanks you in his native tongue.

The two of you stand there for a moment in this sort of half-embrace, Alejandro with just a single arm around you and you with your hands held out behind him with your face pressed up against his chest. Next thing you know he presses a kiss to the side of your head, which takes you even more by surprise. This man really does not care how you look or smell. You could be covered in saline solution and antibiotic ointment and he’d still think you were the most stunning woman to walk the earth.

Also, speaking of smell, Alejandro smells really good, despite the hint of gunpowder from the mission he just returned from. But to say you are obsessed with his cologne is an understatement. This man smells AMAZING. His scent is woodsy, and spicy, like tequila mixed in with cardamom and bergamot, with sharp hints of clove and peppers balancing over velvety floral notes. He smells like something out one of those cheesy racy romance novels where the romantic interest climbs up your balcony during a hot summer night to hand you a single rose before whisking you away under the stars for a night of passionate-cough cough-you know what I mean. It's almost sinful, erotic, luring you in to perform acts that would make Satan and the Pope seek counsel with each other. This sudden emotion causes this stir in the pit of your stomach, lighting your whole body in flames and you almost feel ashamed for wanting him to stay a while longer just so you can get another and longer whiff of him.

“You know chica, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a really good machaca." Alejandro pulls away from the embrace, looking down at you with a slight smirk.

“Why don’t you go get one?”

“Only if you agree to come along.”

You’re stunned, caught off guard, and you better come quick with a witty response or else you’re just going to look like a fool standing there blinking at him. "Are you asking me out on a date Vargas?" Wow. I haven’t heard that one before.

"Mm, maybe. There'll be good food."

Speak no more. I am bringing the church and a marriage license. “You know, now that you've mentioned it, I suppose I have been craving some spicy food for a while."

The new guy, who’s name you found to be König, was surprisingly polite, despite his intimidating size and aura. He was a bit reserved around you at first, the blues of his eyes from behind the loose fabric of his mask studying your features to try to get a sense of your character as a person. He had heard quite a lot about you from the others, mostly the way you were gentle and kind in nature. Yet he had trouble understanding how a person could be capable of providing peace, as the others explained it, but one word from your lips and a benevolent smile in his direction was enough to convince him.

Telling from his body language, you made sure to inform him about every measure you were going to perform for the procedure, wanting to ensure he was as relaxed as possible with what you were doing, something you took seriously with every one of the patients you ever had. And the more you spoke, asking him simple questions like beginning with his name and asking where he was from and what his hometown was like and how he was currently feeling, he eventually warmed up to you, partly because he thought you were really pretty, but also because you made him feel comfortable in a place he usually did not find comfort in. I mean this man is still a killing machine despite his social anxiety. Not to mention, this was the first time he had met you. So the fact that you look out for his own wellness first really puts him at ease.

The tall Austrian had suffered a gunshot wound to his abdomen, an area that would usually require more serious care. But thanks to his bulletproof vest, the bullet was prevented from puncturing any organs or cavities or any major blood vessels or nerves, passing through his layers of skin and reaching the adipose tissue and barely imbedding into the muscle of his abdomen. You of course were able to extract the piece of metal, injecting some anesthetic for the pain and disinfecting the area beforehand before using a pair of forceps to carefully pull the bullet out.

Though the man was slightly anxious around you, he didn’t want to pry to much on your behalf and end up offending you in any manner, especially with how quiet you were, minus the little questions you’d ask him of course. Instead, he is fascinated by your steady hands and your precision, wondering how hands as small and delicate as yours were capable of performing such complex labor as he asks questions about every step that you take into the procedure and every tool that you have laid out on your table. By the end, he is completely starstruck by just how much you know. He even may have slipped a little compliment on how wise and pretty your eyes were. You’ve never heard anyone compliment your eyes as being wise, but you like it, not being able to hold back the small smile that pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Thank you for your help……..liebling.”

“It’s no problem.” You smile. You had heard that German term once before, a word once exchanged between an elderly couple that were once under your care. And the fact of knowing the meaning behind it warms your heart.

“Du hast sehr schöne kluge augen. (You have very beautiful, intelligent eyes)." The soldier mutters under his breath, nearly catching himself at the end of the sentence and praying you had not heard nor understood what he said.

“Sorry?”

“Oh um…….." König gulps, thinking of how to respond and deciding whether he should just lie or tell the truth to behind the meaning of his words. "It means you have really pretty wise eyes.”

“Oh……..why thank you. That's really sweet."

After handing König a bag containing his antibiotics, pain killers, and a tube of ointment, you also hand him a couple Dum-Dum lollipops to go with it. The Austrian doesn’t know how to react at first. Did you just give him a candy? Was this a common practice of doctors in your country? When he finally realizes this was just your way of showing kindness, he is more than delighted and thanks you for them in German, grasping both of your hands as he does so. Don’t ask me why or how but I just feel like he likes to hold both of your hands whenever he thanks you for something. Also the more eager he is, the more he shakes your hands in his.

This man’s crush on you has just went to the next level. König likes to collect whatever catches his attention, something he had done since he was a child from time mostly spent by himself. And it’s almost as if he has an eye for these things, picking out whatever has unique colors or patterns. So when you find some wildflowers or interesting looking leaves or a variety of colorful bird feathers or butterfly wings that had fallen to the dirt on your desk one day, just know he picked them out for you whenever he goes on a mission.

Believe it or not, the Austrian also has a secret talent of wood carving and is actually very skilled at it. During the days where his anxiety seems to overwhelm and suffocate him, he likes to sit outside in the grass surrounded by nature, covered in wood shavings with a knife in hand as he makes little wooden figurines of animals that he sees, whether it be birds, deer, foxes, bunnies, squirrels or skunks. It’s the only thing that he can fixate on that brings him total serenity and nirvana, sitting amongst the grass with his back up against the trunk of a tree, where there isn’t a single soul in sight except for himself and the ones that belong in the woods, where the only things that can judge him are the tall ancient trees and the creatures that walk it. But I won’t get further into this till later. Just know that he’s working on one especially for you.

Now, moving on.

By the time you were finished patching the three men up, you cleaned up the area and your tools, taking off your bloody gloves and throwing them into the biohazard container until you see Ghost stumble by in the corner of your eye. Little did you know he had been watching you from afar, not in a creepy way but in a ‘just want to make sure my teammates are alright’ kind of way. Not that he doubts your expertise of course. The lieutenant had not expected the mission to go sideways as it did, even though it was somewhat accomplished in the end. And seeing his team get wounded had unlocked this new fear in him that, to some degree, had always been there.

So when he stood there in the corner, leaning against the wall and hidden in the shadows like typical old Ghost, he found a sense of relief in watching how quickly and proficiently you moved about and just how composed you were, especially under the pace and pressure. Maybe it’s how quiet you are when you get really focused on something, maybe it’s how calm you are throughout it, or maybe it’s the amount of caution and supervision you take towards making sure the others are treated with the utmost care. Truth be told, you are like a remedy to Ghost, to the Simon Riley underneath, to the troubles and trauma that mold the broken man beneath the mask. If only the big dummy were to realize this instead of treating you like as if you were the plague itself.

When you lift your head towards the sound of slight shuffling in the corner, you catch him moving out of the shadows and sneaking away from the area. Usually you wouldn’t think anything of it, thinking he was just overseeing your work like a supervisor. But as you watch him walk off, you notice that something is off about him, something not quite right, and this intuition only builds this deep and heavy bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“Ghost?”

Ghost stops abruptly at the sound of your voice, his head ever so slightly tilted to the side as he was not expecting you to have seen him, much less even say something.

“Is everything alright?”

Goddamn you and your manners. The masked soldier moves away with the slightest huff, not wanting to answer your question but you call out once more.

“You’re not hurt are you?”

“Negative.” He begins to walk off, not even looking in your direction to acknowledge you.

“Lieutenant, could I please see you for a minute?”

“Another time.”

“I insist.” Your voice is more firm this time and it catches him by surprise.

He had not heard this tone from you before, and yet, he can sense the shakiness behind it, the uncertainty. The more there is silence on his end, the more you are sure that you have reached the expiration date of your life, terrified that you had officially provoked the stone-cold soldier and that he is about to march over here and stab you in the neck with your own scalpel any second now. And as he stands there, debating on whether he should just leave, he hears your voice once again, a faint ‘please’. Heaving out a heavy sigh, the man shuts his eyes for a brief moment before turning back around and heading in your direction.

You’re not sure if you should freeze up like the fresh-caught fish on a bed of ice at the supermarket or run in the opposite direction as this man walks towards you, his mask not helping in making him look any less more pissed off than usual. When he finally stands in front of you, his bulky form towering over yours, you can only do the first thing that comes to mind, freeze up. At first the masked soldier glares down at you, the irises of his eyes only darkened by the grooves of his mask as he waits for you to speak, wishing you were the first to say something, anything, but instead you’re staring at him like a deer caught in front of headlights. Don’t worry babes, I would too.

“Well? Whadya want?”

“I just want to check to make sure you’re not injured-“

“I feel fine.” Ghost narrows his eyes at you, slowly becoming irked by your constant need to monitor his well-being and wishing you would just take his word and leave. But he knows better than to argue with someone that was literally tasked by the government to manage the sanity and wellness of task force 141. Was your etiquette a part of the job requirements as well?

“You don’t look fine.” You snark.

“Yeh?” Ghost sneers. “And who the hell are you to say that?”

“I’m a doctor.” You blink. “Or if you wanna be more specific, I'm technically your doctor. It’s my job. And telling from the dampness of the blood on your mask there that still has not dried since the moment you stepped trough the doors and god knows how long since before,” you point to the area near the bottom of the left side of his neck, more so near his shoulder. “I’m guessing it’s yours and not someone else’s.”

“The fuck are you on about? Listen here princess, there’s no-“ Ghost pulls his hand up to his neck only to feel the exact same dampness you had just mentioned. Fuck. He had been so caught up with everything around him that he had not even been aware that he had been injured. When he finally pressed his fingers to the area there, tensing from the pain, that was when he was finally able to register through that thick and stubborn skull of his that he had in fact been injured this whole time. This man probably takes the phrase ‘mind over matter’ quite literally.

“Now can I please take a look at you?” You quirk a brow up at him, waiting for a response and knowing better than to expect a quick answer. But if there’s one thing you know, if you just slightly annoy and pester him enough, he might just eventually cave in, that is if he doesn't add you to his hit list. “Look, if you wait any longer you might pass out and go into hemorrhagic shock. And depending on the class, you can suffer from organ damage and even death. So unless you want that to happen-“

Well when you put it like that- “Fine. Get on with it.” Ghost growls as he sits himself down on the chair. Bloody fucking hell you talk way more than he had ever expected from you. But you sure can keep your ground, he'll give you that. He’s just glad that none of the others are here to see him being bossed around by someone almost half his size and about a foot shorter than him.

"Thank you for cooperating." You give a short and quick smile. You may or may not have exaggerated about the last part to get him to comply. Well…….that is.........depending on the exact location of injury and the amount of blood loss of course.

Thank you for cooperating. Ghost scoffs at your statement.

“You know……I wish you wouldn’t avoid me like I were a crackhead outside your local 7-eleven.”

A what? Ghost gives you a weird look, wondering if he had heard you correctly as you go over to the sink, rolling the white sleeves of your lab coat up and turning on the faucet. The shit that comes out of your mouth, he swears makes him question your license. Then again, he’s not sure how to respond to what you had just said. It's no lie that he has indeed been going out of his way to avoid you at all costs. But the idea of you even noticing his absence had never even crossed his mind, much so that you would come to be offended by it. Noticing your lack of pressing further on the matter, he shifts in his seat, watching you wash your hands in a methodical series of steps until he notices a small marking on your inner right wrist, a small and delicate tattoo of a heartagram. It can't be.......can it? He had never listened to much of their music but.......were you a HIM fan? If so, this is certainly a detail he had never expected from you and he almost doesn't know what to think of it. What other tattoos do you have?

Once he sees you turn off the faucet, he quickly returns to his original position on the chair, not wanting to make it seem like he was watching you.

"Now I’m just going to take a quick look here." You head over to where he sat, pulling the nitrile gloves over your hands as you look down at him, reaching out towards the bottom of his balaclava before feeling him swat your hand away.

“Hey!” You yelp, more so from being startled than the actual impact. “The hell was that for?” No way in hell he just did that.

“…………….”

"I promise I won't sneak a peak at your face if that's what you're afraid of."

“……………………..”

“Listen lieutenant. I can’t check to see if you’re okay if you won’t let me.” You sigh, reaching out once more, but this time you feel his hand grab yours, his gloved fingers wrapping around the bare skin of your wrist as he eyes the ground at his feet. The loud beating in your chest reaches your ears, deafening you as you stare at the soldier who could practically fracture your wrist if he tightened his grip. At this point most would be petrified, bracing themselves for the number of possibilities that can take place just from under his control. Most would either try not to glance over at the scalpel that lays out on the table just beside within arms reach, not wanting to instigate anything further in fear of the soldier catching the movement of their eyes, or some would dare to do so anyways as part of their fight or flight response.

Maybe you should be scared of him, of this soldier who has more blood on his hands than you can count. And yet, somehow, as you finally regain control of your thoughts after being startled from the sudden motion, you can’t seem to find yourself to. If he wanted to kill you, you’d already have been dead, you tell yourself, because here you are, well and unharmed. Despite the calloused disposition of the man notorious for his ruthlessness and merciless on the field and just the sheer size of his hand around your wrist, you’re surprised at the gentleness he handles you with, the carefulness of his hold a stark contrast to the rough fabric of his gloves that rub against the sensitive skin there.

Ghost can feel you tremble ever so slightly under his grasp, feeling your racing pulse through his gloves from under his palm, not to mention the peculiar coldness of your limb, but he can also feel the severity behind your eyes as you stare him down, as if you were just waiting for him to meet them. For a flicker of a moment, you have him wondering just how much more there is to you than the Dr. Y/n y/l/n that you put on stage only for others to see. Just what else lies beyond the pristine white lab coat, those neatly pressed scrubs and your observant orbs.

“Ghost-“ Your voice is firm but heedful. “Please let go of my wri-“

"I'll do it."

“What-“

“I said I’ll do it. You’re not touching the mask.”

“Alrigh-”

“I mean it.” He lets go of your wrist as quickly as he grabbed it.

"Okay." You throw your hands up in defeat, taking a step back to give him some room. "Fine by me."

Ghost can't help but huff at your behavior, hesitating for a moment before finally lifting the bottom of his balaclava, peeling away the fabric that had become sticky with blood to expose his neck. Damn you.

"Let's see here." You lean in closer to inspect the area before cursing under your breath. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Ghost side-eyes you with a raised brow at the words that came out of your mouth. Did he just hear you cuss? Better yet, just what the hell did you see to make you say those words. You almost don’t even have to hear him say anything to know what he is thinking.

“See this is why it’s important you come to me.” There’s that same strictness in your voice, and yet, this one is different. Is that a slight hint of genuine concern he hears? Realizing how you might have sounded to a man who has probably dealt with far worse, you straighten up, clearing your throat as you did so and fluttering your eyes away from his forbidding gaze. Pushing away whatever emotions that managed to rile you up like that, you clear your throat once more. “So, looks like there’s a laceration, along the inferior portion of your neck here, proximal to your acromial region. But lucky for you, your brachial plexus is still intact. The bullet, or whatever the hell you've been hit by, narrowly missed your suprascapular artery and nerve. Though I will have to perform some sutures to reconstruct your trapezius muscle."

"English, for fucks sake." Ghost grumbles at your rapid speech involving words he finds incoherent. But you and I both know it’s only because he finds it to be a turn on. That's why he let you ramble on in the first place.

"What I meant was, good news is, your nerves and blood vessels are okay. Bad news is, your trapezius muscle, which is the muscle that runs along the curve of your neck here and a portion of your back has a slight gash here at the top. So you are going to need stitches. And a lot of rest afterwards of course, to make sure it's properly healed."

"Fuckin hell." Ghost mutters under his breath.

"Now if you'll let me-"

"Yeh yeh. Just make it quick."

What had been a short amount of time had instead felt like hours for the masked soldier, for Ghost, for the wounded Simon Riley beneath all those layers as he remained in his seat like a statue, ensuring that he stayed as still as possible while you worked on him. He had not uttered a single word during the whole duration, not even the slightest grunt. And if it hadn't been for his steady breathing, you would have presumed him to be dead. He had to be the quietest patient you have ever dealt with, not to mention the most stubborn, and you found yourself wishing he would say something, anything. But to expect such from a man such as him would be a fool's errand, a fruitless endeavor.

And even if he chose to speak, what the hell would he even talk about? His fucking trauma?The man wouldn't even look at you, his eyes wandering everywhere but your face. In spite of his grievances towards you, his reluctance to ever establish any form of association with you, he'd find himself slowly stealing glances in your direction from time to time when you weren't looking directly at him. He'd find himself studying your features as he once did the first time he met you. You were wearing that same perfume, that deep woodsy and floral perfume that reminded him of an old bookstore, of one of those metaphysical shops scattered with different fragrances of the smokey incense, the unmistakable scent of you that had been ingrained in his mind ever since.

"So, what kind of a name is Ghost anyways?"

".................."

"Right. I forget you don't speak."

Ghost gives you a quick and sharp glare before staring straight ahead. Damn that sharp tongue of yours.

"You seem tired." You remark, picking on him just a tad bit to make a reference to when he commented on your dark circles, but also because he actually did genuinely seem tired.

"............."

A cock-up, no thanks to you, Ghost thinks to himself, knowing damn well the only reason he could not sleep was because of you, though he senses the only reason you said that was because he had mentioned to you how you looked tired.

More minutes pass, and he has yet to even snide at you. You'd almost prefer a huff of irritation directed at you over nothing.

"You know," you utter, "I went to medical school with an incredibly ambitious guy who was obsessed with collecting skulls. He'd do anything to get a head."

You what? Ghost looks at you just the slightest with a single blink. What the bloody fuck are you talking about? Oh wait.

“What is a sleeping brain’s favorite rock band?”

“……………….”

Oh no. It looks like Soap’s habit has taken hold of you.

“REM.”

“……………….”

Okay maybe that was a bad idea. The look that Ghost just gave you makes you want to never say another joke again. He actually thinks the first one wasn't too bad.

“You know, you’re lucky the bullet grazed you where it did.” You lean in a bit closer as you suture his wound. “Any more to the left and you would’ve have been in some serious shit.”

Your little movement manages to catch Ghost’s attention, and if you weren’t shoving a needle through his flesh he would have moved away. Instead he glances just the slightest over in your direction, his breath hitching in his throat at the close proximity between you both. His eyes trace over the details of your face as if he were studying a map, going over every one of the little characteristics that make you you. If only you could see the way he looked at you, you would have been able to see the subtlest change, the tiniest, sliver of a crack in the hardened shell that surrounded Simon Riley, of that shell that is Ghost.

There is a moment when your thigh brushes against the side of his as you turn away to move on to the next step after stitching his wound, a moment that goes by unnoticed to you, but not to him. The small contact, though brief, had managed to send a jolt of warmth through the soldier’s body, a feeling that is completely foreign to him, prompting him to tense up and bury whatever it is that has him reacting this way. It isn’t until you sense him shift beside you that you turn back to him, gauze and ointment in hand just as you catch him transfer his line of focus somewhere else. The faint alter of movement had you raising your brow, knowing well what you saw but unsure of the motive behind it.

While you went over to him, studying whatever you could gather from his body language and just his eyes due to the obstruction of his face, you noticed that his eyes were quite expressive for a man known for lacking any basic human emotion. While dressing his wound, you picked out the way his blonde lashes fluttered against his deep mahogany irises as they focused on anything but you, the black color smeared around the exposed area of his balaclava accentuating the blondes of his hairs. This had to be the first time you had actually taken a good look at him.

You would have complimented him on his eyes and lashes, but you thought against it, not wanting to embarrass yourself, or more importantly, the last thing you needed was to dig yourself deeper on his bad side and end up as a dusty file to be brushed under the rug. Speaking of. Now that you mention it, the stuff he wore around his eyes looked awfully similar to the stuff you found on your candy tray. Couldn’t be him could it? No, it can’t possibly be. The man avoids you way too much to even think about taking something that is even associated with you. Maybe you’re just overthinking like you always do and what you found was just from your own eyeshadow palette. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve accidentally smeared remnants of eyeshadow from your fingers to other things. If only you could ask him, but this man hates you enough as it is. You could casually bring it up one day, although now definitely isn’t the time.

When you were finally finished tending to him, getting up to gather some pain relievers, antibiotics, and some ointment for him to take with him, Ghost had noticed something that he had not spotted before, a small pitted and circular mark that sat at the left side of your neck. As he stared at it, trying to decipher just what it could be, it looked to be a scar of some sort, though a bit faded with time, it’s shade slightly darker than your skin tone. Where had he seen a mark like that before? And then it hit him.

“There you go.” You came back around to hand him his treatments in a brown paper bag, your voice causing him to quickly avert his gaze. “You’re all set.”

Taking the brown paper bag from your hands, Ghost couldn’t stop thinking about what it is that he saw marking the skin of your neck. Something in the back of his mind knew just exactly what that scar belonged to, what it meant. But Ghost, or Simon Riley, knew better than to delve into something that wasn’t his business, knowing well the cost. He could just be over-analyzing it all, mistaking it for something completely different. But why was he even bothering to do so in the first place. He had better things to do, duties that were assigned specifically to him, and trying to figure out that mark on your neck wasn’t one of them.

Ghost is quick to get up from his seat as he ushers you a quick thanks, the hardened wall once again building up to the masked soldier who had dared to even let it down just the slightest around you.

“Ghost wait.” You call out to him as he walks away, watching him stop in his tracks. “……before you go………next time you’re injured………promise you’ll at least come to me.”

“….I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Look,” you sigh, “I get it if you think I’m annoying……..or if you hate my guts, whatever, I don’t care. Just….at least let me help you.”

“Don' bother.” Ghost tightens his jaw as he tilts his head towards you, the brusque in his deep voice evident before he regains his steps, disappearing from your line of sight.

“What an asshole.” You breathe out with a shake of your head. You swear this man has you testing your Hippocratic Oath. You don’t know what it is that makes him despise you. Maybe it’s just him and that’s just the way he is, something you might have to ask the others about. Usually words like that would have you lying in bed awake thinking what you did wrong, but you are much too tired for that.

As Ghost went back to his room, shutting the door behind him, he opened up the paper bag you had given him, spilling out the pill bottles and ointment tube onto the table until he heard something roll off the edge of the table and fall onto the floor. Furrowing his brows, the soldier looked at the ground at his feet to where the mysterious item had fallen only to see a single Dum-Dum lollipop, sour apple flavor. Bloody fuckin hell.

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He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 4

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 1940

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: military setting, violence, use of guns, explicit language.

I hear panicked shouts from the halls outside the room. The men only just got back from their mission a couple of minutes ago. Soap said he’d be back to get me in ten after they unpacked, but it’s been at least twice as long and their voices have me worried something is wrong. Then everything quiets down for about two minutes before an array of gunfire opens up across the tiny building.

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