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whatsnewalycat · 7 days

Text

SURRENDER

Part Two of Ruthless | Stepdad Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Warnings: non-canon, Boston Joel, dub con, step-cest, sneaky sex, use of the word daddy in a sexual context, dad kink (that’s a thing right?), age gap, degradation, praise kink, avoidance, silent treatment, sneaking into bedroom at night, angst, collective grief, mentions of explosions and gunshots (nothing graphic), *it’s about the yearning*, hair pulling, no physical descriptions of reader aside from hair can be pulled, reader is 18-19, Joel being a bad dom and a bad caretaker, hot shower, food mention, mentions of religion, unethical D/s dynamics, dry humping, anal sex, physical restraint, face fucking, sub-space unlocked, dirty talk, dd/lg maybe i think, masochism, like a lick of fluff if u squint

A/N: Heeeey buddy. As stated above, this is a second part to Ruthless. Big thanks to my love @frannyzooey for the help and hype, you're the best. Please be mindful of the warnings and tell me what cults you think exist in post-outbreak tlou.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

———

As the 19-year anniversary of Outbreak Day draws near, unrest festers in the streets of Boston.

Whenever August ticks over into September, residents of the QZ seem to divide into three distinct categories: people who want to forget, people who won’t let them forget, and people who are too young to remember.

Born post-apocalypse, you fall into this third category.

Which doesn’t mean the ripples of loss don’t touch you, contrary to what some may think. You still lost something. Everyone did.

This fact is apparent when you take the scenic route home from your job posting at the distribution center.

Rubble crunches under your shoes as you walk down the crowded sidewalk, passing by a message spray-painted over the battered brick building: WE’VE BEEN FORSAKEN.

Graffitied sentiments like these pop up constantly this time of year. Overnight, almost. Your mom and Joel mostly blame Fireflies for the vandalism. The bombs, too. Apparently they stir shit up to make people uneasy, then recruit those who seem susceptible. That’s what your mom thinks, anyway. ‘Leveraging their grief against them,’ she says.

You think it might be more than that, though.

Yesterday you saw three separate arguments break out in the streets. When you were taking inventory of k-rations this morning, an explosion went off so close-by that boxes rattled off the shelves. It was the second bombing this week, and you don’t foresee it getting better until October.

Sure, the Fireflies lay claim to the lion’s share of vandalism and destruction, but their activity is consistent year round. They are the baseline. But this? This is different.

You attribute the excess chaos to this heavy, static feeling in the air. It clings to your skin and gets stuck under your nails like a thick cloud of invisible dust or spores. Microscopic particles embed themselves in the cracks and creases of each person inside the QZ, fertile ground for clusters of violence to sprout up at every turn.

If you had to guess, you’d say this phenomenon probably spans the globe. All of you felt the loss of Outbreak Day, the whole human collective. Echoes of what humanity lost will likely still be heard a thousand years from now.

Some people refuse to accept this.

Like the guy a few strides ahead of you, who walks by an orange spray-painted message that reads REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOST and sneers, “Almost twenty goddamn years, fuckin’ let it go and move on.”

You watch him. See his neck get all red as he mutters to himself and clenches his fists at his sides. He looks around like he expects someone to challenge him. Nobody does.

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Further up the sidewalk, he encounters a memorial made up of candles and wilting flowers hugging the side of a residential building. He kicks it over and repeats his earlier sentiment, this time louder and directed towards the brick wall.

“It’s been twenty fucking years, get the fuck over it already!”

Of course, a passing spectator indulges him.

“Hey—watch it, asshole!”

The two men puff up their chests and start yelling back and forth, so you cut right down an alleyway to avoid the situation completely.

When you arrive home, you find Joel at the dining room table, hunched over a map, holding a glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline.

Neither of you say hello, but when you glance up while untying your gritty shoelaces, you catch him staring at you.

A jolt of electricity shoots through you.

He corrects himself, returning his eyes to the map as he takes a big swig from his glass.

“Mom home?”

“No.”

Nodding, you rise to your feet and slip out of your shoes, squirming with the excitement that one syllable brings you.

“When’s she gonna be home?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey, too engrossed in his project to spare you attention.

For weeks, he’s been trying his hardest to pretend you don’t exist, which would be typical behavior if he didn’t fuck you dumb a few weeks ago. Sometimes you’re not even sure that what happened between you was real.

But, then again, sometimes… sometimes you feel him staring at you when he doesn’t think you’ll notice. Sometimes he touches your waist as he passes by. Sometimes at night you hear him pacing the hall outside your bedroom, the faint squeak of the warped floorboards giving him away.

When this happens, you stare at the door and will him to do it. Aching with something stronger than want, you pray for him to cross the threshold. But he never does.

You exhale through slack lips and wrinkle your nose at the canned goods.

“Hungry?”

He grunts in response, which is Joel for ‘I could eat.’

Tilting your head at the handwritten labels, you present the options, “Stew or… meat and beans?”

Another grunt, roughly translating to ‘Both options are fucking terrible,’ a sentiment with which you wholeheartedly agree. You grab the stew and empty it into a saucepan on the gas stovetop.

While it heats, you steal glances at Joel, noticing the rigidity in his demeanor. His set jaw and tense muscles. The deep creases in his furrowed brow.

You’ve coexisted with him long enough to understand he’s not immune to the heady thrum of anguish in the air this time of year. Like you said, nobody is.

Joel distinctly falls into the “people who want to forget” category of the forsaken, but carries whatever or whoever he lost on Outbreak Day like a ten thousand-pound weight on his broad shoulders. He white-knuckles his way through the season of chaos and mourning and tries to act like it doesn’t affect him, but it does.

You can tell, not just from the way he holds the grief captive in his body, but also from the obvious indulgence in his favorite coping mechanism: planning.

Joel is a meticulous planner.

Between smuggling runs, he comes home after a long day of manual labor at some job site and unwinds by plotting logistics. Drinking, too, but he clearly has a favorite.

Hours will go by while he pours over reference material, maps or blueprints, making addendums of any notable changes he and your mom discovered. After this, he deliberates. Joel could chew up weeks with this step. He plots out each possible route, taking into consideration all the penciled-in shortcuts and caches they’ve stashed within a 30-mile radius, then determines the most beneficial path for their next big adventure.

Given FEDRA’s current paranoid state, with the increased patrols and surveillance and whatnot, your mom and Joel won’t be making a trip outside anytime soon. But still, he drinks and plots and winds himself up into a tight obsessive knot.

You divvy up the simmering stew into two bowls, placing one next to his glass of bootleg booze while you take a seat across the table from him. He ignores your presence, just flicks his eyes around the map like it’s supposed to give him the answers.

When you’re halfway done with your bowl, you gently prod him, “It’s gonna get cold.”

Sitting up in his chair, he sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, then folds up the map and sets it aside.

The two of you eat in silence. Each wordless second twists hot beneath your skin. Your mind wanders to the dig of his fingertips in your soft flesh. The sting of his flattened palm. The stretch of his thick cock. The things he said to you—fuck.

You’re tempted to tell him to do it again. To tell him that you’re still abiding by his rules. That you don’t sneak out anymore. That you haven’t felt the sweet bliss of release for weeks because you don’t fucking come without his permission.

Over and over, you rehearse it in your head. You imagine yourself telling him, ‘I’ve been so good for you and you haven’t even noticed.’

The sound of him clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts.

He shifts in his seat a little, studying you, “You still seein’ that boy downstairs?”

Your heart stutters. Heat floods your veins as you shake your head.

“Why not?”

All you can do is stare at him while trying to verbalize an answer. For weeks, you ached for his attention. And now that you have it? The words are stuck in your throat.

You shrug, pushing your empty bowl away to lean your elbows on the table. When you look up at him again, he blinks. Waiting for a response.

A rush of adrenaline makes the world around you buzz.

“Why do you care?”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, then parts his lips to respond.

The apartment door swings open.

Both of you start at the intrusion. You jump to your feet to collect the dirty dishes while Joel turns to greet your mother.

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,” she grumbles, then pulls out the seat adjacent to him and starts telling him about her day.

———

You step into the shower and hiss in reaction to the scalding hot water.

The fact that it's warmed at all surprises you. Not an unwelcome surprise, even if it hurts a little. Most days the water comes out tepid at best, and you’d gladly accept a third-degree burn over a lukewarm shower.

Besides, the sting feels right on your skin, as weird as that sounds. You relish the pain while washing yourself, thinking, ‘this is what I deserve for feeling this way.’ Hell fire, if the sidewalk preachers are right. If there is such a thing. If you’re not there already.

Only once the water runs cold do you turn it off and go back to your room, leaving the door cracked open behind you. After putting on a big t-shirt and some underwear, you turn off the lights and climb into bed.

For a while you stare at the water-stained ceiling and listen. You hear the roar of FEDRA’s armed vehicles patrolling the streets. Far away, gunshots ring out into the night. Some kid starts crying next door, then his mother lulls him back to sleep.

Closing your eyes, you try to tune it all out and focus on the noises within this unit. Concentrate on the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet. The ripping sound of your mom’s snores.

Then, you hear it.

A creak from the floorboards. Footsteps.

Their bedroom door squeaking open.

Everything goes silent long enough for you hold your breath and scream inside your head, please please please—

It starts again. One careful step, then another.

His presence hovers there at the door for six restless seconds before he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him.

Your pounding heart squeezes your breath ragged. It comes out this shallow, shaky push and pull that broadcasts your consciousness.

Still, you pretend.

You keep your eyes pinned shut and listen to the advance of his footsteps to your bedside.

Down by your feet, the mattress shifts under his weight. He doesn’t touch you for a while, only watches you, his gaze burning into your skin.

Then, he murmurs, “I know you’re not sleepin’.”

You blink your eyes open to look at him, in boxers and an undershirt, all hunched over at the foot of your bed. Always carrying that weight on his shoulders. The glow of the street lamp outside your bedroom window casts this perfect golden light on him that makes you kind of hate how good he looks.

“What are you doing?” you ask in a whisper.

Over the blanket, he rests his hand on your calf, then takes it back and shakes his head.

You roll onto your side, swinging one leg over the blanket and tucking it between your thighs, a wordless plea for him to touch your hungry skin. Joel shifts further onto the bed, turning his body to stare down at you with a straight spine. His gaze drifts up your exposed skin, fingers twitching in his lap.

This faltering self-discipline compels you.

Joel is nothing if not self-disciplined. That much is true for all the forsaken, yourself included.

Your working theory is that nobody wants after the world ends, they just need. Need to sleep, need to eat, need to fight. Anything to survive one more fucking day. It’s all any of you can ask for.

So do you want him, or do you need him?

And what about him? Joel fucking Miller, with his reinforced concrete walls and heavy heart. Was he ever capable of wanting?

“Joel,” you reach out to touch him, beckoning him to meet you halfway.

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. He shakes his head, as if declining the offer, but you don’t retreat. You sit up and crawl across the bed to him.

The column of his throat bobs, head rocking back as he watches you come to a stop. He almost lets you touch his cheek when you try again, but snatches your hand away before you can make contact.

“Don’t,” he warns, the tone of his hushed voice deadly serious.

He squeezes your fingers while you study his stonewalled expression, tilting your head at him, “Why did you ask me that earlier? If I’m still seeing Bert?”

“I was curious.”

“Curious why?”

His lips part, then close, gaze dropping to your mouth.

Heat pulses through every inch of your body. You drop your voice to a breathy whisper.

“Were you thinking about what you did to me?”

Something flickers behind his eyes when they snap onto yours. It draws you in, urging you to scoot so close your knees butt-up against his jackknifed leg.

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” you ask quietly, smirking a little when his stern face twitches, “You loved how it felt to make me surrender—”

The dull throb of his tightening grip around your hand makes you gasp. A rumble slips from his chest, which could be read as a warning if you had an ounce of self-control left. If you didn’t need him to combust.

You let your gaze drift from his burning gaze down the slope of his nose to his lips, “Do you think about it every time you see me, like I do with you? How fucking good it felt?”

“It was wrong—”

“Then why are you here?”

Your question comes out louder than you expected. It ricochets through the charged space between his body and yours, popping the bubble of awareness around you.

All the little sounds you picked up on earlier seep back into the foreground. FEDRA patrolling. The whiz-pop of firecrackers going off maybe a block away. A faint murmur of conversation in the upstairs unit.

He holds your stare, but doesn’t make a sound until a snore rips from your mom’s chest, signaling crisis averted. When he speaks, his words come out hushed and calm.

“You need to be quiet. Understand?”

The command liquifies your bones.

You lick your lips and nod, “I understand.”

“Good.” He studies you as if deep in thought, finally releasing your hand to pinch your chin and assert, “You know why I’m here. Stop pretendin’ you don’t.”

It’s hard not to fall in line when he’s looking down at you like this, all hot-blooded and self-assured. Cocky, almost. But you try to push his buttons anyway.

“I thought it was wrong.”

“Don’t get cute with me. Yes or no?”

Your pulse flutters. Tongue goes numb. All you can do is nod.

He jostles your head a little, “Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Say yes please.”

“Yes please.”

He works his jaw back and forth, studying you, then tugs your shirt.

“Take this off.”

While you pull the offending garment over your head and toss it aside, Joel moves further onto the mattress, leaning back against the wall.

You follow him, swallowing the static buzzing in your throat as he ushers you onto his lap. The scrape of his rough hands on your waist may as well be a live wire crackling across your skin. He pulls you closer and closer until your belly presses into the worn cotton of his shirt. The heat between your legs settles on his stiff length. When he twitches against you, a heady electric current courses through your body and coaxes a whimper from your lips.

It seems too intimate to look at him, so you cast your gaze downward. Your shaky hands lay flat against his chest, absorbing the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Being with him like this feels strange. Not strange how it sometimes is with a new partner, that clumsiness before you know how your bodies work together.

It’s strange in a fucked up out-of-context sort of way. Of course, growing up around him never conditioned you to think of him like this. Joel fucking Miller, with his scarred-up knuckles and unending apathy. The only man who could make big brown eyes like that seem cold.

All those years, you never considered him anything more than an obstacle.

Even then, if there was some tiny shimmer of attraction lingering under your skin, a piece of you that wanted more from him, you never thought he could feel so solid and soft and alive. You never dreamed he could make you feel so fucking good.

“This stays between us,” he tells you, more of a command than a request.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, and he purrs, “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

You preen at the warm timbre of his voice, body arching into him as you breathe, “Yes.”

Under your touch, his muscles tense. He exhales hot against your cheek and guides your hips in a rocking motion, slow and steady, rubbing all those aching nerves hard against him.

“You liked it, too. Didn’t you? How I fucked you last time?”

A low-frequency hum throbs deep inside you, amplifying every sensation tenfold. You nod, rolling your hips faster, “I did, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you liked it? Or did you fucking love it?” he hisses, “Dirty little slut like you. Bet you loved getting fucked in the ass, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Joel—”

“Tell me.”

“Yes yes yes I fucking loved it—”

Too loud.

He ceases all movement, locking you in place with a steel grip. All ten of his digits bury themselves in your skin. The exquisite pain makes you gasp.

“Hush.”

You clamp down on your lips in an attempt to stifle yourself. Each heaving breath wiggles down to your core and back.

“Look at me.”

If you do, you’ll dissolve at the edges. You know it. You are sugar paper and he is a humid room and you are so incredibly fucked.

Pinching your eyes shut harder, you shake your head and whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll come if I do.”

The confession makes him throb underneath you. He husks, “Do it, look at me.”

You do.

Even in the shadows you can make out his features, his parted lips and hooded gaze. The desire etched into his face as he stares at you, looking mystified in a way you’ve never seen before. Heat percolates beneath your skin, sending your heartbeat racing.

His hips arch into you just so, then he pulls you in and pushes you back, rubbing your body against his, “Do you wanna come? Come for me just like this?”

“Please—please,” you whine, feeling pleasure branch out from your middle as he slides you back and forth, “Please I wanna come for you it’s been so long—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Swallowing a moan, you nod frantically.

His eyes flicker around your face and he breathes, “Go ahead.”

You’re not sure if it’s the flames in his eyes or the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in almost two months, but the second he gives you permission, the ecstasy you tried so hard to contain spills over the edges and floods your body. It pulses through you hot and hard and makes your mind go white. You have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the guttural noises that try to escape.

“That’s it,” he coos from far away, still grinding your twitching body against him, “There we go. That’s my good girl, hmm?”

“Oh my god—” you whimper at the sharp aftershocks that shoot through you, “It feels so good, Joel, fuck—”

“Do you wanna come again?”

Nodding, you link your hands behind his neck and set yourself in motion, rubbing against him a little faster than his set rhythm. His eyelids flutter as he throws his head back, the muscles under his shirt going taught. Beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Releasing the tight grasp on your hips, he roams up your sensitive skin to your breasts and tests their weight before squeezing. It shoots through you, the pleasure and pain indistinguishable, just a throbbing rush of need. Your breathing comes in heaving gasps and you pinch your eyes shut again, tilting your head towards the ceiling as you once again find yourself struggling to keep quiet.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you.

You snap them open and meet his.

“Good girl.”

And—god, the way he looks at you, his gaze hungry and wild. Fucking maddening. Simultaneously, you wish he would stop—the contact too intense, too intimate—and pray that it never fucking ends.

Heat bubbles up inside you. You bury your fists in his hair and roll your hips faster, chasing the scorching need for more.

He hisses and pushes back against your thrusts, murmuring, “That’s it, grind that pussy on me, make yourself feel good.”

“Fuck—fuck yes, it feels so fucking good—”

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, leakin’ all over me. You do love it, don’t you, baby?”

You start to tremble and nod, trying your hardest to whisper when you tell him, “Yes yes yes I do I fucking love it—I wanna come again, can I please come again, please please—”

“Listen to you. So good, askin’ for permission.” He brings a hand to your face and brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Such a quick learner.”

“Joel—”

“Do it. Make yourself come again.”

Something untethers inside you. Heartbeat pounding behind your ears, you work your body against him in jerky movements, each one more delicious than the last. His eyes burn into yours, all heavy-lidded and lust-blown in the darkness, watching your face twist up with pleasure as the hot gooey feeling between your legs stretches wider and wider, then overtakes you completely.

You give in to it with a shattered breath, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your moans. He holds you down, making sure you smother your cries in the damp cotton of his t-shirt as wave after electric wave washes over you.

When your spasms start to peter out, and your rolling hips come to a stop, he releases his stronghold to pet your hair. Your heaving chests meld together, breath syncing up into a steady ebb and flow as he smooths his palm up and down your spine.

For a moment, it’s just this. Just the soothing motion of him rubbing your back, calming your boneless body. Soft and quiet with everything else stripped away.

Emotion swells in your chest and tingles up your throat, behind your eyes. You try to hide it, the fact that you’re crying, but it becomes obvious when a sob escapes you.

Joel shifts a little, then tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. He searches your face and frowns, furrowing his brow.

“I’m sorry,” you wipe your tears and cast your eyes downward, “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“No—hey, no,” he assures you, “It’s fine.”

You shake your head.

“Look at me,” he commands, and when you do, he cups your cheek and holds your gaze, “It-it’s normal to feel… emotional. Really, it’s ok.”

The warmth and sincerity of this—his touch, his eyes, his words—makes your heart stutter. It curls up inside you and sedates your jumpy nerves.

You sniffle and nod, “Ok.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he studies you, bringing his hands to your waist. The longer you stare at each other, the more all the subtle signs of his lust come back into focus. How his tongue peaks out to wet his lips when he looks at your mouth. The heavy thudding of his heart. His strained breath and throbbing cock.

Your gaze drifts to his lips. A needy, aching desire simmers at the base of your spine. It seems wrong to kiss him. More sensual than sexual, rooted in something he will never have for you. But still, you wonder.

You wonder how soft his plush lips would feel against yours. How he would taste. Whether or not he would use tongue, or teeth, or both.

Your fingertips twitch hesitantly towards his mouth. He doesn’t pull away or admonish you, even though you give him ample time to protest. When you make contact, smoothing your touch over the pillow of his bottom lip, he murmurs against your fingers, “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m never gonna be, either, I wanna make that clear. That’s not what this is.”

“I know you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Joel.” You scoff at the thought, “Boyfriend. I don’t want that. I don’t need a boyfriend. What I need…” you watch your touch drift from his mouth to his jawline, where you scrape your nails through his scruff, “What I need is someone to fuck the thoughts out of my head.”

“Fuck the thoughts outta your head,” he repeats, almost a chuckle, “That’s what you need, huh?”

“That’s what you need, too. Isn’t it?”

Something smolders behind his gaze as he searches your face.

“You can use me, you know. Take whatever you need from me. Use me like a fuck toy, Joel, I fucking need it.”

His whole body reacts to your request, muscles flexing taught as he clenches his jaw.

You bat your lashes at him and pull yourself close enough to feel his breath on yours when you ask, “Don’t you need a little fuck toy like me, daddy?”

“You’re a sick girl, you know that?”

“You like it.”

Neither of you can deny the other’s accusation, resulting in a stand-off that tingles beneath your skin and makes your heart pound in your throat.

Subconsciously, you rock your hips forward and suck in breath when his cock throbs against your clit. He pushes back, flooding your veins with fire, “Are you gonna keep quiet if I fuck you?”

“Are you gonna shut me up if I can’t?”

He lets out one single amused chuckle, then asks, “Are you really tryna test me right now?”

Suppressing a smile, you shake your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

Something in the way he says it blooms heat in your chest. His tone teasing, almost playful.

He gives your ass a light smack, then tugs at your underwear, “Take these off.”

You roll off him onto the mattress and slide them down your legs while he stands to strip naked. Seeing his cock makes your body hum. It stands at attention, bobbing a little when Joel catches you staring.

Sidling up to the bed, he beckons you closer, so you follow his silent guidance and crawl over to him, wrapping your hand around his thick length. You glance up at him, licking your lips as you await further instructions.

“Get it nice ‘n’ wet for me.”

Nodding, you bring your mouth to the head of his cock, exploring first with your tongue, licking up the salty dribbles of lust. You taste a hint of yourself on him too, arousal that soaked through his boxers and marked him yours. Temporarily, at least. At least for tonight, or at least for right now.

A pleased rumble erupts from his chest when you wrap your lips around him and start to slide up and down his shaft. He feels solid and warm and fills your mouth completely. The first time he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull off him, working him with your hands as you catch your breath.

“Do it again.”

You take him in your mouth, rutting up and down a few times before sitting up taller to drive him down your throat. He buries his fists in your hair and thrusts his hips forward, “There we go, that’s it—fuck, you’re so fucking good at that.”

His praise sparks at your core. You whine around his cock and bob against his thrusts. It doesn’t matter that you can’t breathe. You don’t need oxygen, you just need this. The sting of his grip prodding your movements, the raw stretch of him fucking your airway, the wet squelch that fills the room.

When he yanks your head back and unclogs your throat, you gasp for breath and stroke him with both hands, churning his slick length. Fire roars in his eyes when you look up at him.

He grabs your chin and husks, “Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

He smacks your cheek and grabs your chin again, “Say thank you for fucking my face.”

“Thank you for fucking my face, I fucking love it—”

“Say please can I have some more.”

“Please can I have some more, daddy?”

Stifling a groan, he crams it back in your drooling mouth, down your throat, snapping his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that make you gurgle with pleasure around him. Far away, you hear him panting, “Take it take it take it—”

The chorus makes your body tingle. You think about your mom sleeping in the other room, how there’s just a wall between her and this. How she could wake up at any moment and follow the muffled, hedonistic noises. How she would find Joel balls deep in your mouth and you giving him something she never could: control.

This time when he pulls you off his cock, he uses his white-knuckle grip on your hair to make you flip over and turn around, ass in the air towards him.

The head of him nudges up against the tight ring of your asshole. You hear a wet splat, then feel the heat of his spit trickling down between your cheeks. Your body clenches with anticipation as he smears it around.

“Remember, you gotta relax,” he murmurs, releasing your hair to smooth a palm against your spine.

You inhale a deep breath and exhale the tension from your muscles, letting your heart melt into the mattress.

“Good girl,” he arches forward, breaching your entrance.

The sharp sensation splits you open. It pulls a wanton moan from your lips that rings through the silent apartment like a siren.

Yanking you up by your hair, Joel secures your back to his humid chest and clasps a hand over your mouth. Stars invade your field of vision as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, only stopping when he can’t go any further. You sob against his palm, so he pulls it down harder, muffling the noise until you stop.

Everything goes silent and still, but you can’t even bring yourself to worry that you woke her. Not when all you can hear is your thudding heart and his ragged breath, coarse with what you assume is rage or lust or both. Not with his lightning rod cock vibrating hot up your middle.

It doesn’t matter that she could walk in to find her common-law husband fucking your ass, or that this discovery would burn all your lives to the ground. All you care about is more. More stimulation, more attention, more Joel—more more more—

You try to move your hips in an attempt to create friction, but his vice grip renders you immobile. So you stay in place and try not to make noise as the flames lick at your insides. You squirm and ache and claw at his arms while he muffles your whimpers.

Then your mom snores in the other room.

He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gasp for air.

Thinking you can get ahead of the inevitable scolding, you plead, “I’m sorry—”

He drags his cock out of your body, then plunges it back inside, all the while hissing, “If you’re gonna be my little fuck toy—”

“Holy fuck—”

“—You have to be fucking quiet. Do you understand?”

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand, I’ll do better, I promise—please just fuck me, please please—”

You strangle a moan in your throat when he slips a hand between your legs and draws tedious circles on your clit.

“Try ‘n’ breathe through it,” he coaches, “I’ll go slow for you this time, ok? Just remember, shut the fuck up and take deep breaths.”

You suck in air until your chest is full, then release it, restricting its flow through a narrow space between your lips. You do it again. Tension begins to melt from your bones. It has a clarifying effect, allowing you to relish in the heat of his touch. You take another deep breath, only hitting a snag when Joel starts to rock his hips.

It feels fucking unreal. Rough and raw, the steady drag of his cock fills you with static electricity over and over.

“Oh fuck—”

“Shhh…”

Your inhale stutters, but you regain control on the exhale. Everything disappears except him. His heated skin sticking to yours. How fucking full he makes you feel with each thrust. The thick swell of pleasure that accumulates every time he flicks his wrist. You surrender to all of it, to Joel, entrusting him with everything except your breath.

“That’s it, baby, let go.”

“It feels ssso gooood,” you whisper, head rolling back onto his shoulder, “Nothing’s ever felt this good, holy shit—”

His lips tickle your ear as he purrs, “Such a good little fuck toy, aren’t you, baby?”

You gasp a little when the velvet of his tongue rolls against your pulse. Nodding, you reach back behind his neck to scrape your fingernails through his curls. He does it again, this time sealing his lips to suck on the sensitive skin. Your heart pounds thick and hot through your body. The edges peel back at the corner of your mind. You push back against his thrusts, panting out subdued whimpers as the fire in your belly begins to spread.

“Do you wanna come?”

“I do, I wanna come—oh my god I wanna come, please make me come, daddy—”

His hand covers your mouth and holds you down so he can fuck you harder, stretching you out wide and filling you deep. He works your clit faster. The bed frame thumps against the wall in a frantic rhythm that matches the wet slap of his thrusts. Tears prick your eyes and heat swells beneath your skin, pressure building more and more until you think you can’t fucking take it anymore—

His palm smothers your moans as you fall apart, breaking into a million pieces and coming back together again with a choked sob. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans as his hips snap forward, then stutter to a stop.

The two of you go slack propping each other up, too loose-limbed and lethargic to peel yourselves away at first. He makes the first move to separate, though, uncovering your mouth to brush the damp hair from your forehead, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you tell him instinctively, then second-guess yourself and look up to meet his eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

He studies you, nodding.

Hesitation buzzes in your chest when you contemplate whether or not to return his question. It seems unlikely he’d cooperate even if you wanted to know the answer. So instead, you give him his out.

“Is this goodnight, then?”

“Suppose it is.”

A flicker of something passes between your bodies as you stare at each other. It feels so hot to the touch that you chicken out, glancing away as you whisper, “Will you do something for me before you go?”

“Hmm?”

“Tuck me in?”

The noise that comes out of him is half-grunt, half-chuckle. Joel for, ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’ But he obliges, pulling his soft cock from your body at a mercifully slow speed before allowing you to make yourself comfortable. He sorts out your blanket and drapes it over your body, then starts fishing his clothes off the floor.

Tugging his shirt over his head, he asks, “Need anything else, princess?”

You’re sure it’s a dig, but choose to ignore it as you snuggle into the covers and hint, “Don’t make me wait so long next time.”

He sits down at the edge of your mattress and threads his legs through the boxers, “I’ll make you wait as long as you need to. What else?”

“Mmm. Goodnight kiss?”

“Goodnight kiss,” he scoffs to himself, then looks back over his shoulder at you, “Fine, then I’m goin’ to bed.”

He turns to face you more directly, folding a knee onto the bed as he leans in and tilts your head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss into your cheek. Even though you wish he had kissed your lips, you close your eyes and savor the affection while you can.

After murmuring goodnight, Joel leaves. He crawls back into bed with your mother while you memorize the sound of his retreating footsteps.

#joel miller #x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us smut #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ruthless joel miller #whatsnewalycat writes #pedro pascal smut

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victoria-grimesss · 8 months

Text

Nightmare

masterlist

->Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

->Words: 2.2K

->Warning: MDNI!! pre-established relationship, angst, death, smut, PinV , oral fem!receiving.

->Summary: A particularly bad nightmare scars Ghost. He draws you closer as you help piece him back together.

Simon got nightmares a lot. They were frequent and usually contained the same things, nightmarish battlefield conditions that would shake anyone to their core. He would wake up in a cold sweat, the sheets clinging to him uncomfortably. His bed would be empty until he had met you.

You changed his life, the good parts and the bad.

You were like a little ray of sunshine that brightened his life. His walls in his home were blank and barren, he never cared enough to decorate. But you brought paintings of beautiful landscapes and fresh plants dotted the surfaces of the tables.

Each morning the smell of coffee and tea would grace the air and you would draw the curtains, allowing fresh air and light into the home. He would find you and wrap his arms around your waist, two mugs side by side one of each of your preferred drinks. You always made his just right.

He would kiss your neck and his hands would travel from your hips down your thighs and all the way back up to cup your breasts. He loved how soft you felt under his hands, how willing you were for his touch. He would drag you back to bed, or if he's incredibly impatient he would have his way with you on the kitchen counter.

Simon is a gracious and giving lover, he would spend hours between your thighs, he would practically get off on getting you off. He would hold your legs open and get drunk off of your taste.

He was truly home when he was with you, when he is with you.

---

He had a particularly bad nightmare one night, tourtorous.

He was scouring the battlefield, there were bodies and blood everywhere. This was a shit mission and he knew it. Felt it in his gut but no one listened. No one let you sit it out either.

He yelled your name, tripping on rubble that was still hot from the explosion. The sky was orange and dust coated the ground, heatwaves visible in the horizon. It was so hot and muggy, his mask was stuck to him.

You were here somewhere and he would die finding you if he had to, he couldn't leave you. The coms cracked to life calling him back to retreat but he didn't listen. They told him to leave you, you were gone but he didn't listen.

He heard a shifting in the rubble, a moan and the sound of gear moving.

"Y/N?"

"Simon, over here."

Your voice was harsh, dust coating your throat and a nasty knock to your head making it hard to see straight.

He stumbled over a large slab of concreate and collapsed at your feet, a sizable piece of concreate staircase was on your leg and he looked you over frantically, his eyes blown wide with your state.

"Are you hurt?"

He almost laughed if he could right now, you're pinned under a rock, now dry blood coating your arm and neck and you ask if he's ok.

"Yea I'm alright love. Let's get you home ok?"

"I can't feel my leg Simon, I can't walk you have to go."

He's furious, mad that this mission was allowed to happen with how dodgy it was.

"Like fucking hell I'll leave you here, I'll carry you if I have to."

He manages to just lift it enough to scoot your leg out of from under and it was sight. Crushed to all hell, bent in places it shouldn't be and it made him sick to see you like this.

"They're going to have to cut it off huh." You huff a laugh, obviously trying to deflect the severity of the situation.

"Probably. You'll get some hefty chest candy though and you'll get a nice vacation alright. I'll be there right with ya."

He lifts you into his arms, taking care not to move your leg too much, the wince that coats your face hurts him.

The walk is brutal, downed soldiers surround him for miles and the evac chopper just seemed to get further the closer he got like some sick joke.

Then a bang sounded, almost from thin air and he's frantically checking around him, he's stood on top of a large slab of displaced highway, the landscape stretches for miles and the sun is so hot and he's exposed.

"Simon."

He looks down at you and his breathing stops at the sight of fresh blood blooming from your chest, you cough and it comes from your mouth.

No. no. god please no, not you.

He puts his hand on your wound and applies pressure, he drops to his knees, and you grip his arm, the pain making you cry out and tears bloom in his eyes.

"You're alright love, I've got you. Just- just stay awake for me yea?"

The contrast from the sweat in his mask mixing with his tears make his skin burn and he rips his mask off to breath because he can't. breath. You're dying in his arms and he can't breath.

"I love you so much Simon. So, fucking much." You cough and more blood seeps from your mouth as you speak.

"Don't fucking say that you're not dying here alright not like this. You deserve better."

"You're a good man Simon."

He's crying now, the black paint on his face smudging and he kisses your forehead and then your lips, he feels you draw your last breath on his lips and exhale into him, he inhales your last breath and it hits him then.

"Y/N?"

"Love?"

He brushes the sticky hair from your face, your eyes are void of any life. He wants to pluck your soul from wherever it has travelled and put it back into you. Bring you back to him and cease the pain he feels, the pain that will always be there now.

He grips you tightly in his arms, rocking your body, your hand that gripped his arms falls limply to your side and he draws it back to him holding you as close as he can.

"Please don't do this. Don't leave please love I need you; I can't do this without you." He gasps because he still can't breathe.

His name dances in the air, once then twice. Like your spirit is calling to him.

Then he breaths.

He sits up fully in the bed, gasping and heart racing.

Your hand is on his chest, your eyes wide as you try to soothe him.

"It's ok, you're alright. You're safe at home."

His arms are around you; he embraces you in a crushing hug, his hand wraps into your hair as he inhales you shampoo. His other hand grips the small of your back holding you as close as he can.

"It was you. You died. Felt so fucking real."

"Oh Simon. I'm alright, see everything is ok."

You sit there for a while holding one another, until tears are dried and hearts are calmed.

Eventually Simon's hands move to brush the hair away from your neck and his lips place soft kisses and bites into the skin, relishing in your soft sighs.

"I really thought you were gone. Thought I'd never get to hold you like this again, touch you again."

He strips you of the sleep shirt you wear and cups your breast, kneading the soft skin in his palm.

"Never get to have you underneath me again."

Your breathing has picked up and you grip at his shoulder, still slightly sticky from the sweat but the way the light from outside hits him makes him out to be some kind of Greek stature carved from stone.

You're moved underneath him and he continues kissing you from jawline down to your chest where he takes one nipple into his mouth, holding the other one in his hand.

Your hands run through his short hair, lip in-between your teeth as you watch him.

"Simon, please."

"None of that tonight. I'm going to take my time on you, just lay back and let me have you."

Your hips try to buck from under him but his abdomen hold you steady. A hand snakes it's way down to your hips and his hand finds itself under the waistband, gripping the skin and flesh like his life depends on it. Like if he doesn't grip you hard enough you'll die.

As he kisses down your stomach he slides the panties down your legs at an agonizingly slow rate and you yearn to just grab him and bring him back up to you.

He throws the panties over his shoulder and kisses from your ankle back up to your inner thigh. He nips and sucks at each side, he kisses right around where you need him and he smirks are your impatience.

"Look at you, fuck. You're soaked. You want something?"

"Yes, fuck just hurry up."

"What was that? Didn't quite hear you right."

He's just awful when he takes things slow. You groan.

"Simon please."

"One more time, say it again."

"Simon please, god please just use your mouth."

"Atta girl."

He licks a long hot strip from bottom to top and you throw your head back. He moans into you, the vibration aiding in your arousal as you grow wetter and wetter.

"You always taste so good, you know that. Can never get enough of this."

He sucks and licks and your hands are woven into his hair pulling and pushing.

His hands are wrapped about your legs and you can't keep still so he wraps his hands around your hips holding you closer to his face and keeping your hips steady.

"Cmon, I can feel you getting closer, c'mon pretty girl go ahead."

Your breathing is so fast and you moan and thrash in his grip but he's got you locked down. The view you have is ungodly hot. His big arms wrapped around you, his mouth making noises against you that make you clench around nothing. And his back is exposed, the muscles highlighted by the moonlight, they flex and you plead for him to just fuck you already.

"Cum on my face and I'll fuck you, just give me this one and I'll seat myself deep inside you, need you soaked so you can take me all the way."

His words spur you on and you coat and grind on his face, he welcomes it and grips your hips tighter letting you ride your high and use him. He kisses his way back up and you taste yourself on his lips, he holds you face in both hands and holds you until you're both out of breath.

"Can you pretty please fuck me now." You whisper into this mouth, he shivers, his pupils blown wide.

"You ask so nicely how can I say no." His mouth meets yours deeply and he rips himself of his briefs and holds himself against your entrance, your wetness being more than enough to aid his entrance.

You gasp and he groans as he enters you, every inch feeling hot and hard as his mouth leaves blooming purple bruises on your neck.

He sits for a minute just holding himself fully inside you and enjoying how warm you are wrapped around him.

"So tight around me. I'll never get tired of fucking you. You're so beautiful underneath me."

He brushes your hair out of your face and kisses your cheek. Your arms wrap around his neck and his movements are slow. He's methodical with his hips, he moves out slowly almost all the way just leaving the tip in until he thrust back in just as slow.

His arms cage you in and all you can see is him, you smell him, you hear him, and you feel him. With eyes locked he expresses all of his love for you in his movements. A lot of the time your join sessions are loud and fast but this one. This one is different. So full of love and passion. He's replacing that nightmare of you dying with you underneath him filled to the brim with him.

"Do you want to get married?"

You clench around him and he smiles, you're stunned by his question.

"Simon- are you proposing right now?" Your words shake as you slowly approach the peak.

"No. Just asking if it's something you want to do. Would you want to marry me?"

You grip his hair just a bit tighter.

"I do."

"Yeah? Yeah, I'd marry you too. Show everyone you're mine forever. Put a pretty ring on your finger so you can show it off."

You clench around him again and his pace quickens just a bit.

"Keep you safe, call you my wife. My pretty wife. You want that?"

You're reaching your climax and claw at his scalp.

"Yes Simon, please."

"Cum on my cock and I'll marry you. Be a good girl."

You both reach the end at the same time, stars and tension gripping you until you both grow slack and his full weight is on you.

Your hands run through his hair and you scratch softly at his neck and back, soothing him as you did when he woke up.

"Did you mean that?" You voice is just a whisper but it is heard over his ragged breathing.

"I saw you die. It won't happen again, not until we're both old as hell. And when you die you'll die my wife. I don't plan to drag it out any longer."

You smile and kiss his cheek, he holds you and finally he dreams of something better.

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sulkybbarnes · 1 year

Text

I've seen a lot of posts bringing attention to the devastating earthquake that hit Turkey and Syria, but with a focus mainly on Turkey, so allow me to talk about Syria.

The earthquake hit several areas of Syria (Aleppo, Idlib, Latakia, Hama, and Tartus) that were already devastated by war over the past 13 years. As of me writing this post, there are over 1700 people dead in Syria alone, and hundreds injured and wounded, not counting people still stuck under the rubble. I'm too emotionally drained to try to appeal to people's humanity, but please take a moment to look through the following sources of Syrian people reporting directly from Syria, and help if you can.

Syrian accounts reporting Syrian news in English and Arabic:

mashrouwanabqa

mysyria_

Post with some resources to help

And some western news articles to confirm what I'm saying:

News article with campaigns and organisations to donate to

Same news and places to donate from the New York Times

And perhaps most importantly, I ask you to read up on sanctions on Syria and educate yourself on the slow, painful genocide Syrians are suffering at the hand of Western countries. No electricity, gas, or medicine reaching the Syrian people for 13 years now. No economy allowed to flourish. No hope for the Syrian people under these sanctions to survive normal every day life or a cold winter, let alone disaster of this magnitude. There's a campaign to stop the sanctions on Syria, but it's led by Syrians when we are the least able to affect this type of change. Read on it. Talk to your representatives if you can and demand for sanctions to be dropped and help put stop to this. Just look through the Syrian accounts I linked for more perspective. Thank you.

#syria #Turkey #earthquake #social #syrian aid

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 1 year

Text

The Only Exception

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: angst, minor fluff, canon typical violence, smut mndi (18+), Ghost thinks some dirty thoughts about you, masturbation, serious injuries

Words: 8.3k

Synopsis: You are the only exception to the rules Simon has...

Link to The Roommate Series Masterlist

You are currently reading Part 4 of The Roommate Series

(i ran out gifs to use so it's on to pictures)

The air was dry but still. It carried the sounds of gunfire within it, keeping the smell of gunpowder and blood stuck in one place, taking over any other senses as firefights ensued around the lone warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Bullets flew and screams echoed between the destroyed cars and the rubble from rogue grenades, creating a battlefield full of chaotic deadliness that should’ve been impossible to maneuver in.

Ghost took cover behind a humvee and listened to the bullets that ricocheted off the car while he reloaded his gun to get ready for his next attack. His mind was calm, focused on the plan of getting into the warehouse and securing the intel. He didn’t think about anything else but the mission and how to get his men out of this without losing any of them.

This was light work for him, stupidly easy that he wondered if he was put on this mission to get it done quickly or warm him up for a harder one down the line.

He killed a few enemies with quick precision and took a moment to look around for Soap, hoping that he would be available to execute one of the plans he had come up with.

His eyes landed on his sergeant a few feet from him hiding behind a car as well. Soap’s attention was on the warehouse, his gun pointed towards any enemies who showed themselves and shot them before they even had a chance to raise their weapons.

“I’ll get you an opening to the warehouse.” Ghost said into the comms to catch his attention. “Clear out as many as you can, then I’ll follow.”

“Copy, L.t.”

Ghost leaned out from the cover of the car and began to shoot at the enemies in the warehouse. He kept his sights on the men who weren’t under fire from the squad under his command and took it upon himself to get them out of the way. The bullets flew out of his gun and one by one, he watched the men in the windows of the warehouse disappear with a cry of pain as he shot them all with precision.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Soap take the opportunity to run inside, and provided cover for his sergeant. He waited until he knew that the rest of the squad would be able to take care of the stragglers and rushed inside to follow Soap.

The sound of gunfire echoed in the halls and he followed it, seeking out the smell of gunpowder and copper in order to his teammate. He saw Soap duck behind a corner and reload his gun before he came up beside him, taking a moment to get his bearings of the situation to make a decision.

“How many?” He asked as a bullet clipped into the concrete wall.

“Four.”

Ghost glanced back the way he came and realized that the hallway looped around the building. He was lucky that the enemies had either forgotten about it or they’d be pumped full of bullets by now, but he didn’t care about that right now, not when he saw an opportunity to finish the mission.

He tapped Soap on his shoulder to get his attention and pointed towards the other side of the hallway.

“Head around and flank them, I’ll take this side.” He commanded and watched Soap rush around to cut them off from behind.

Ghost waited for a moment before he leaned out from behind the corner and fired, watching as two of them hit the floor. Before he could shoot the other two, they crumbled to the floor because of Soap and he scanned the rest of the hallway to make sure that there were any left.

“Clear!” Soap called out and Ghost met him down the hall. “This the room?”

They stood in front of the only door in the hallway. Their intel was supposed to be inside where weapons dealers had stashed their information on a next deal, one that could have the potential to lead them to Makarov.

Ghost nodded and he took a spot next to the door with his gun ready, gesturing for Soap to do the same. He couldn’t hear any noise from behind the door but he knew better than to believe that it was empty.

He glanced at Soap before he kicked the door open and let Soap take the lead.

He followed in, shooting at anyone that Soap missed before everyone in the room had dropped to the floor in a puddle of their own blood. He commanded Soap to start searching for their intel and surveyed the room before he heard coughing.

Ghost looked down on the floor to see one of the enemies bleeding out but still alive. He watched him with indifference as the man struggled to pull out a gun to shoot him with it, his body already going weak from the bullet wounds.

The man glared at Ghost as he approached and spit the blood from his mouth at him.

“You’ll pay for this…” He wheezed and Ghost’s eyes narrowed.

Ghost didn’t say anything as he raised his gun and shot the man in the head. He stared at his body and the blood that gushed out onto the floor both of his wounds almost as if tunnel vision took him over.

He stared at the man’s lifeless eyes and for a moment saw himself in the dead body.

The warehouse was far from Ghost’s mind as he stood in a field miles away from it with a cigarette between his fingers and his mind elsewhere. His eyes were distant as he stared at nothing. He could hardly pay attention to the thousands of crickets that chirped in the tall grass, the sounds mixing with his tinnitus that raged louder now that he was out of combat.

He was stuck in the darkest parts of his mind, unable to stop thinking about the images of death and blood that were sewed into his mind now that he didn’t have a distraction, now that he wasn’t killing anyone. The massive weight on his chest made it impossible to breathe and paired with the cigarette smoke he was suffocating, drawing out in the open air.

And yet the cigarette was keeping him from losing it further, the habit being enough to keep some of his mind under control as he waited for evac.

He wasn’t sure why this particular mission had done it for him after working for nearly two and half months now, but he was practically begging in his mind to be put on another one right away. He wished that instead of being picked up to go back to base, he was being picked up to go somewhere, to follow the next lead the intel got them. He didn’t want to stop and rest, he wanted to keep going, he wanted to get rid of the horrible feeling by ignoring it and pushing it down with work. It was a temporary solution to an issue he refused to acknowledge, one that he didn’t have to when he wore the mask.

“L.t.” Soap’s footsteps pushed the tall grass away from him as he walked up to Ghost, alerting his presence to his lieutenant who had taken watch while they waited.

“Johnny.” Ghost replied back without looking away from the spot he was staring at.

Having Soap near him made his shoulder loosen just a bit, not enough to make any real difference to the tension in his muscles, but he felt like he could breathe just a bit more. He didn’t say anything for a long time, letting both of them stand in silence as the night drew on and more stars painted the sky.

Soap nudged his shoulder and he finally looked away from the spot.

Ghost blinked a few times as he stared at Soap. He studied his face, noting that his eyebrows were knitted together as he stared up at him with worried eyes that bounced around the false face he wore. They both stared at each other in silence, and Ghost narrowed his eyes a bit, almost as if to challenge Soap to say something.

Soap gestured to the cigarette in his hand and he clenched his jaw, a short huff escaping his chest before he handed it over.

“Don’t know what’s takin’ so long.” Soap puffed out smoke as he spoke. “Got us out here doin’ grunt work and now they’re taking the piss out of us.”

“We changed locations, so it’ll be a little longer.” Ghost scanned over the open field he stood in and looked in the direction of the warehouse as if he could see from this far away.

Soap groaned and handed the cigarette back to Ghost. He placed his hands on his lower back and stretched his hips forward with a scrunched up face as a loud pop resonated through the air.

“Wish there was a fuckin’ rock out here. I’m aching.” He complained and Ghost rolled his eyes even though he was feeling the same effects.

Ghost finished his cigarette and snuffed it out on the ground with hardened eyes. It had even been a minute and he was already craving another one. He was far too antsy to be standing out here waiting for a helicopter to only sit in it for hours. He was losing his mind over this feeling and his patience was wearing thin, especially since it had been stuck in the back of his mind since he had left home.

He just needed to get through this waiting period until they went back on another mission.

“Meant to ask,” Soap caught his attention and he looked at him. “That book in your vest pocket, is it a good read?”

Ghost blinked for a moment and placed his hand over the pocket, feeling the travel sized joke book that you had gotten for his birthday sitting snug inside of it. He had completely forgotten he had brought it with him, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he consciously made the choice to pack it with him.

He pulled it out and looked down at it, the weight of it in his hand grounding him more than he thought it would’ve for such a small thing, and stared down at the cover with a clearer mind than before.

It had been a simple gift, but he still remembered the warm fuzzy feeling he had when he had unwrapped it. He had expected you to get him something like a pocket knife, something practical for him to use, but instead you gave him a book full of bad jokes because you knew he liked to make them.

Ghost’s face softened underneath the mask.

“Not a bad read.” He held it out for Soap to take. “Especially when you’re bored.”

Soap took the book with a gleam in his eyes before his face fell when he read the cover. He gave Ghost an unimpressed look as his shoulder slumped with disappointment before he thumbed open the pages and skimmed the words.

“You’re the only guy I know to carry a joke book around on a battlefield.” He muttered with the shake of his head.

“What’s red and bad for your teeth?” Ghost glanced at Soap who raised an eyebrow. “A brick.”

“Is that in here?”

“Page twenty.”

“You even know the page number?”

Ghost wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had read the book front to back that he had memorized the entire thing by now. He could tell every joke on each page as confidently as he could shooting a gun. He practically spent the entire first week back on base with his nose stuck in it every night because everything about it reminded him of you.

His lips twitched underneath the mask as he watched Soap flip to the page. He watched as the Scot read with and then grunted with a twinkle in his eyes, clearly amused. It was a far cry from your reaction when he would tell you his jokes, but no one could ever replicate your laughter.

He could almost hear it when he read the words on the page, he could almost imagine the way you scrunched up your face because you knew it was a bad joke but you couldn’t resist laughing and he couldn’t help but continue to make you laugh. Your laughter was quite literally music to his ears and he would give anything to hear it right now, to have you laugh at his stupid jokes instead of listening to the tinnitus in his ears.

A heavy feeling pushed on his chest and he clenched his jaw as his mind threatened to wander to you.

Ghost would have never thought he would be in this much agony over missing someone alive like this. He practically mourned you the same way he did when he thought a little too hard about his mother, and yet you were still alive, you were back at the flat going to class and living a normal civilian life.

His heart ached every time he thought about you. Every time he saw your face behind his eyes, or thought about your smile, the way your eyes lit up with you saw him, he needed to take a few deep breaths to keep the tightness in his throat away. It only got worse when he remembered how you looked when he left two and half months ago,

The way your voice shook and how small you looked, how there were tears that threatened to fall from your beautiful eyes and the fact that you still gave him a smile even though he could see the way you were falling apart, as if you were trying to spare him your pain when you should’ve given him worse for making you feel that way.

He wondered if made things worse by kissing you because that kiss nearly broke his resolve. He had been so ready to call Price and tell him to fuck off for another week after he had felt your lips against his and after you had kissed him back.

It had been better than he had ever imagined. No one had ever kissed him with that much affection, with tenderness that had him breathless and wanting to get on his knees. He had never desired someone as much as you in a way that was more than just blowing off steam.

No, he desired you in a way that made him afraid and yet he couldn’t run away from you. He didn’t want to.

Ghost placed a hand over his heart and shut his eyes and he felt himself go breathless as the tightness in his chest worsened. He wishes it was your hand on his chest, calming him down and telling him that you were right there, that he wasn’t without you.

“Ghost?” Soap caught his attention and he opened his eyes to look at him.

Soap stared at him with worry written all over his face. It was a wonder how he could see what was going on with Ghost underneath the mask but Soap was like you in that he had somehow broken down his walls and waltzed inside. He knew Ghost too well and could tell when something was up even when there was an attempt to keep it hidden.

He looked into his eyes, blue meeting brown, and saw Simon in pain.

“You alright?”

Ghost knew he couldn’t lie to him, he was far too smart for any bullshit that he could come up with, and yet he couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t dare utter your name in a place like this for fear that maybe there was an enemy even if it was clear.

You didn’t belong in this kind of life.

Someone like you, happy and peaceful, didn’t belong in the context of anger and war. No one should know about you, it was too dangerous for anyone other than him to know about you, even if it was Soap, one of his closest friends.

He opened his mouth to lie, hoping that maybe Soap would be too tired to try to figure out the truth when his ear piece crackled to life. He sighed with relief and averted his gaze from him as he listened to the pilot speak.

“Bravo 0-7, we’re about to land.”

“Copy, we’re ready for you.”

Ghost looked up at the sky but heard the helicopter before he could see it. As much as he didn’t want to go back to base, he needed to get out of this conversation with Soap as quickly as he could before he pressed him any further.

He took back the book when Soap handed it to him and he put it in his pocket, making sure that it was right over his heart as the helicopter came into view.

Ghost hadn’t looked up from his food since he and Soap had gotten back. He was back to feeling those awful feelings and this time it was worse because coupled with it was the intense feeling of your absence across from him. He didn’t hate his teammates but they weren’t you, they didn’t talk about normal stuff like you did, they didn’t make feel like he could be in that life again.

He bounced his leg on the ball of his foot in order to get out some of the energy that was stuck inside of him. He would’ve gone to the training room and worked out the rest of it until exhaustion but Price had asked him and Soap to eat with him while they debriefed on the mission.

He was hungry but he didn’t eat, he couldn’t when his stomach was weighed down with a pit.

“Simon?” Price’s voice cut through his thoughts and he looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

Price was looking at him expectantly under his intense gaze, his eyes staring through him as if he could read his mind. If anyone knew Ghost, knew Simon, it was Price and the old man made it clear any time the two of them spoke. He always looked at him as if he could see him, as if he saw the man that died years ago and not the facade he created so he could continue to live and work in the military.

Ghost knew that Price had suspected something was wrong with him the moment he had walked off the heli. It was the captain’s job to know everything about his men, so of course he knew that Ghost was having a hard time, that he was practically going through the stages of grief without acceptance in sight.

He could see him trying to figure it out as Gaz and Soap waited for him to say something. He didn’t hide it either, he wanted Ghost to know that he was searching for the cause so he could come up with a solution, he always let Ghost know that he was willing to help.

Ghost glanced at the others as he tried to remember what the conversation had been.

“The intel Soap and I got gives us an entire network of Russian weapons dealers.” He explained confidently without missing a beat. “We’d have to survey all of them in order to find the ones that could lead us to Makarov.”

“Easier said than done.” Gaz commented and Soap nodded.

“Makarov has his fingers everywhere.” Price gave Ghost one last look before turning and scratched his beard in thought. “Even if we find one that could get us closer to him, it’s only a small step.”

Ghost felt the weight of his words settle on him and he watched as everyone else realized what it meant as well.

Longer missions, more time spent away from home, more time risking their lives to get a fraction of what they wanted. This job wasn’t easy and everyone knew that to get the results they wanted, it would take time, but this entire mission of finding Makarov consisted of lesser missions that slowly broke down their stamina. That was most likely the point that Makarov wanted to make, to show them that he was always one step ahead of them, but Ghost never knew Price to be a quitter.

In the past, Ghost could live with it, but now that he had someone waiting for him, now that you were waiting for him, he hated how long this was going to take.

“Well we’ve talked enough about this for now.” Price grunted as he finished his food and stood up. “Get some rest, it’s late. Take a break tomorrow.”

He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder. Quick but with a comforting squeeze and a smile before he left the common room with his plate, taking most of the heavy weight of work with him.

The three of them didn’t wait to get up and leave as well, finding that they were more tired than hungry. They all said their quick goodnights before they went to their rooms, not to be seen until in the morning when their bodies decided to wake them up.

Ghost entered his room and tried to ignore the fact that he was still feeling everything he didn’t want to. He was feeling the weeks worth of strain on his body and in his mind, the images of killing men just because they were in his way and then the extreme loneliness that he felt as he remembered that this wasn’t his room in his flat and you weren’t just across the hall from him.

He sluggishly began to take all of his gear off, throwing it haphazardly on the floor because he couldn’t find the energy to care about putting it away neatly. He stripped his clothes and boots off as he made his way to the bathroom, keeping his eyes on the floor so he didn’t have to look at himself in the mirror.

Even with the mask on he was sure if he looked in the mirror right now he’d break it. He didn’t want to see whoever was going to look back at him, he couldn’t look at Ghost because he wasn't able to suppress these feelings and he didn’t want to see Simon in such a horrible state.

It wasn’t until he stepped in the shower with the water running did he throw his mask on the bathroom floor.

The hot water ran off his skin as he stood in it. He let it burn into the sweat and grime that had built up, he let it chip away at these feelings as he focused on trying to ground himself with the heat. He hoped that the shower would take it all away as if it would clean the wounds that weren’t physical, as if it would wash out all of the bad that was stuck inside of his head.

Even as the water slowly washed the heavy weight in his chest away, he couldn’t help but think about you as if he lathered soap across his body.

He wondered about what you’d been doing these past two and half months. Did you take your exam? Did you pass it? Have you been taking care of yourself and rewatching your show?

Had you gone to the festival you talked about, the one where he had planned to finally ask you out on a date but you had fallen asleep on him before he could gather the courage to do it? In hindsight, he was glad you had fallen asleep because it would be much worse for both of you if he had.

Did you miss him as much as he missed you? He knew you missed him, he saw it, but he couldn’t help but think that maybe you didn’t. Maybe you were okay with him being gone, maybe you liked him being gone because he was so much of a drag compared to you.

All of these questions raced in his mind as he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off.

He longed to hear your voice to tell him, he desperately wanted to know what you were doing right now, what you’ve done without him. He wanted to know that you were okay and that he hadn’t hurt you too much because of how he left. He needed to make sure that you hadn’t cried yourself to sleep because he would never forgive himself if that were the case.

Ghost knew that he could ask you. He eyed the burner phone that sat on his desk as he got dressed as if it had personally offended him for existing.

He could call you if he really wanted to know, but he had never done it before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t missed you before, he often found himself feeling this way when he was back in his room on base, but he had always told himself that calling you while he was away would be worse. It reminds him of what he’s missing out on, reminds him that this was his choice to leave you for months and that he had no excuse to treat you like this.

He sat on his bed and continued to eye the phone before he turned his attention to the birthday card beside it. He had made sure to take it and the polaroid you gave him before he left, something he had never done before.

There had been no point in taking sentimental things with him and it could potentially be dangerous, and yet he couldn’t part with it when he was packing.

Ghost grabbed the card and took the polaroid out of it. He committed the look on your face to memory and traced you with his eyes as if this were the first time he had ever seen you before. He looked at your smile and the way you leaned into him, he looked into your bright eyes and found himself letting out a deep breath.

Even if it was a picture, he was still stunned by your beauty. He couldn’t get over how you practically glowed when you entered the room. It didn’t matter what you wore or what you looked like, you were absolutely divine.

Looking at you made the weight in his chest get worse and against his better judgement, he picked up the burner phone.

His fingers hit your number before he could even think and he froze from the panic that struck him as he heard the phone start to ring. He didn’t know whether he should hang up before it connected or if he should let it ring and hope that you wouldn’t pick it up.

He stared at the screen with wide eyes as it rang and when the line connected he put it against his ear.

“Hey…”

Your voice was hoarse, heavy with sleep and he mentally kicked himself for being stupid enough to call you at this hour. Of course you had been asleep, it was late and he was sure that today was a week day which meant you had class in the morning.

“Did I wake you up?” He asked, knowing the answer but it was the only thing that could come out of his mouth as he heard your voice for the first time in months.

“No…I was studying.” You lied, a yawn cutting through your words which betrayed you.

Ghost pressed his lips together and gripped his sweatpants. He wasn’t sure what else to say and as much as he liked hearing from you again, he realized that he was in no state to talk to you right now. His mind was far too dark and busy for him to give you the same kind of softness that you were used to since that’s all he wanted you to see him as.

Soft, tender, not a man who has killed others in cold blood. A man worthy of your affection and your attention who you hopefully assumed was better than that.

“Is everything okay, Simon?” You wondered, your voice slowly losing its sleep.

His breath hitched in his throat as you said his name and he swallowed hard. You were over the phone and you still somehow broke through his walls. You somehow calmed his nerves down and steadied his mind even though he was miles away from you.

“Want me to check the doors?” You offered as you assumed he had called you for any other reason than to just hear you.

But you did bring up a good point. He wasn’t there to check the doors and the windows, making sure that the entire flat was locked down to keep you safe. He wasn’t there to look outside of the windows at least three times before he went to bed, trying to discern if a bush was somebody or not, or to do a quick sweep around the perimeter of the flat to see if someone had planted anything.

He had an entire routine set out that he did every night that he couldn’t do now that he was gone. He clenched his jaw and felt his nerves slowly start to work themselves up again as it truly hit him that you were in the flat alone.

Someone could be outside waiting until you went back to sleep to break in and hurt you. Someone could kidnap you or rob the flat, leaving you for dead. There were so many scenarios running through his head that he almost found it hard to breathe.

He wasn’t there to protect you if something happened.

“Yes.” His voice was strained and he hoped that you couldn’t hear it over the phone.

Heard you move out of bed from the other side of the phone and he held his breath, waiting for the moment he heard you scream about someone being inside waiting to attack you. It played out in his brain so vividly that he gripped his sweatpants tightly as he listened to your silence.

“That’s the front door.” You said after he heard the heavy click of the lock. He heard another click from the other door. “This is the back.”

It wasn’t enough. Not enough to keep him from thinking that you were still in immediate danger.

“The windows?”

“Not opened and locked.”

Now he was stuck in his routine. He was going through his mental checklist of what else had to be looked at or thought about. He wasn’t there to do it the way he liked, to be as thorough as possible and to make sure that not even a blade of grass was out of place, but your attempt would have to do.

“Anyone been in the flat?” He asked, almost demanded, as he worried that maybe someone bad had planted something inside to spy on you.

“One of my friends, but I was with her the entire time.” You assured him, your voice still calm and kind.

It still wasn’t enough.There was a possibility that an old enemy of his could still break in and attack you, kill you or worse, and he’d be alone again. It would be like his family, he would be too late to save you and it would be his fault.

“Do you remember where I keep my gun?” He asked, knowing that you didn’t know how to use it but hopefully you wouldn’t have to.

“Yes-”

“My knife?”

“Yeah-”

“Can you-”

“Hey.” Your soft voice stopped him from continuing. “I’m okay, no one is going to hurt me.”

Ghost wanted to argue that it was impossible for you to know that, impossible for you to be so sure that you wouldn’t have to use weapons to save yourself. There was always the possibility that you would be in danger because you knew him, you lived with him and if the wrong person found out you’d be dead because of him.

He couldn’t believe you. He just couldn’t, not when he wasn’t there to see it for himself, to hold you as if he could protect you with his body, to be the one that would take the brunt of everything harmful that came your way.

He trusted you but he couldn’t trust the world.

“Are you sure?” His voice was low and smaller than what either of you were used to and it made him clench his jaw.

“I promise.” You assured him and though you weren’t there to touch him, to hold him, it was like he could feel you.

Ghost took a deep breath and shut his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down. He was shaky and he couldn’t get rid of the pit in his stomach as he listened to you move around the flat on the other side of the phone. He regretted calling you even if hearing your voice was the only thing he wanted to hear.

“Did you take your exam?” He leveled his voice and hoped you would humor him even though it was late.

“Got a ninety on it.” You said proudly and he could see the smile on your face.

He couldn’t help but smile as well. He knew you would’ve and he hadn’t understood why you had been so upset about it before he left, he knew how smart you were, but that didn’t make him feel any less proud of you either. Especially when you had gotten such a high grade when he was sure he most likely would’ve flunked out of university far before you.

“Atta girl.”

You giggled on the other side of the phone and he slowly felt himself unraveling from your voice. He was starting to feel more like Simon again, starting to feel like someone who was worthy of speaking to you like this as if it were normal.

He hoped that you felt the same about him. He hoped that you weren’t upset that he had woken you up and that you liked talking to him over the phone like this.

“How was the festival?” He wondered.

“I didn’t end up going.” You told him, not sounding disappointed about it but he knew that you probably were.

“Oh.”

That’s all he could say. He didn’t want to think that you didn’t go because of him but he knew better than to believe that.

“Can I ask you a question?” You sounded a little unsure and it made him swallow hard as he hummed for you to continue. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Ghost’s eyebrows knitted together and he stared at the floor with narrowed eyes. That was definitely not the question he thought you would ask and he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer it since to him it seemed like it was common sense.

Why wouldn’t he kiss you? He liked you, a lot, probably a lot more than what he wanted to admit right now so it only made sense for him to kiss you. He couldn’t necessarily tell you how he felt so he thought that a kiss would’ve been enough for him to get his point across.

Then again, he wasn’t exactly the right person to have an opinion about these sorts of things.

“Do I need a reason?” He genuinely wanted to know, especially if it meant that he had messed up his chance with you.

“I…there has to be a reason.” You sounded surprised and he frowned.

“I wanted to kiss you so I kissed you.”

You went silent over the phone and he held his breath waiting for you to say something. He hoped that your silence didn’t mean that you were disgusted by him or that he had completely misread the situation. He wished he could just tell you outright how he felt but the words wouldn’t leave his throat and would always strangle him until he gave up.

“I miss you.” Your voice was small and weak as if you were fighting back tears.

Ghost’s heart ached and he clenched his jaw. He was reminded of your sad face again and he shut his eyes as regret washed over him.

“I miss you too.” He said against his better judgement.

He wasn’t lying. He missed you, he missed you so fucking bad that he could hardly sleep without thinking of you and it hurt. It hurt being away from you and he wasn’t sure it would ever go away, even as the years would go by and the two of you continued to know each other.

Ghost meant it when he thought about how you’ve ruined him.

You sniffled on the other side of the phone and he felt his heart break. He wanted nothing more than to be there and hold you, to make up for the fact that he had made you cry. He wished you were in his arms so you could hear his heart beat for you while he took away any of the pain you felt.

“You have to come back.” You pleaded with a shaky voice and his eyes hardened.

“I’ll come back.” He said firmly, as if there was no other option.

“I know you can’t ask you about anything but please be safe. I can’t…you just have to come back home.”

Ghost felt his throat tighten up and he sighed. This was the reason why he had never called you before tonight, he didn’t want to risk making you upset by breaking the standard that once he was gone, neither of you were to hear from each other until he came back. It made it easier to keep his work separate and to keep you safe from the pain he could cause you.

He had to stop this before it got even worse. He couldn’t continue to make you feel this way and make you cry because of his selfishness.

“I have to go.” He lied and he heard you sniffle again.

“Just a little longer?” You pleaded but he was somehow strong enough to resist you.

“No. Get some sleep, yeah?”

You sighed and he stopped himself from thinking about how upset you were, the tears in your eyes and how alone you probably felt now that he was going to hang up on you.

“You too, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Ghost didn’t hesitate the end call as much as he wanted to and immediately placed his hands over his face. Hearing you had calmed him down significantly in that his nerves were no longer raging about work but he now felt the punch of extreme loneliness hit him in the gut, which didn’t really help him with how on edge he had been since the mission.

He huffed and laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he set the phone back on his desk.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how he was supposed to be there with you. How he could calm you down and wipe away your tears by telling you he was there. He should be holding you to his chest, he should be in bed with you making things better instead of making you cry.

Heat washed over him and he shifted his hips on his bed as he thought how he could make it up to you, showing you just how sorry he was for making you feel this way.

This wasn’t the best time to be thinking these kinds of thoughts and he felt a little guilty about it, but he couldn’t control his mind today. He was stressed, pent-up from so many different emotions that at this point, this was the only thing that could probably get him to calm down.

Ghost placed a hand on his lower stomach but didn’t go any further. It felt wrong to touch himself and think about you, he often felt shame because of it, but this certainly wasn’t the first he had thought about making you feel good.

He imagined holding you in bed and kissing you everywhere you’d let him. He’d run his hands across your body and massage his fingers into your muscles in an attempt to relax you. He would try his hardest to pull the sadness out from you while he showed you how much he truly loved you.

His hand traveled over his growing erection and he let out a long sigh as the weight from his palm made him twitch. He palmed himself through his pants and sunk into his mattress, the loneliness slowly being overtaken by the neediness he often felt for you when he laid in bed.

He’d do the same to you. He’d let his hands travel between your legs and slip his fingers past your shorts to feel the heat that gathered there. He’d push his fingers through your slick folds, gathering all of the wet desire to rub your clit nice and slow.

“Fuck…” His breathing got quicker and he shut his eyes at the thought.

You’d be wet as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear and he’d drag his lips up your neck, leaving hot kisses that would burn into your skin. You’d push back into him and buck your hips into his hand as he made you a promise that he’d make it all better.

Ghost pushed his pants and briefs down until his hard cock sprung free, letting his sigh with relief, before he wrapped a hand over his shaft. He groaned as he stroked himself, feeling breathless from just his hand as he thought about the sounds you’d make.

You’d moan his name in that sweet tone of yours, which made his cock twitch in his hand, and hold his hand. You’d be out of breath as he would slip a finger inside of you and work against that spot in your walls that would have you falling back into him with a whine.

“Simon…” You cry and it would make him push his fingers in as far as he could.

Ghost quickened his pace and bit his bottom lip. He imagined that his hand was your walls gripping around him as he slipped his cock inside of you. He squeezed his hand and bucked his hips into the air wishing that you were there on him. He was sure he probably couldn’t fit all of himself inside of you and the thought excited him as he spread pre-cum all over his hand, wishing that it was inside of you instead.

He chasing your high as you’d tighten around him, begging him to keep going as he fucked you closer to your orgasm.

“You feel so good!” You’d cry and move your hips with his. “So good, you’re so good.”

He whined and stroked himself fast. He shut his eyes and pretended that you were here, using his cock in any way you wanted to in order to make yourself feel better. He would fuck into you, ready to please you so he could make it all better, ready to be good for you so he didn’t make you cry anymore.

He wanted you to praise him, he needed you to do it. He needed to know that he was doing a good job, that he was good enough to be fucking you until you cummed on his cock more than once.

He needed to be good for you.

“Don’t stop! Please, Simon, I need you.” You’d beg but he would give his entire being to you if you ask.

Ghost moaned and felt the band of pleasure tighten as he quickened his pace, letting the whines and whimpers fall from his mouth. He’d bury his face in your neck and kiss you, he’d thank you for the praise by slamming his cock as hard as he could into that spot that would have your toes curling.

He thought about how you would shake on his cock and how your moans would be cut off as you fluttered around him. Your eyes would roll back as he continued to pound into you, unable to say anything as the intense pleasure took over. The pleasure he gave you.

Hot cum spurted into his hand. It ran down his cock as he continued to stroke himself at a fast pace through his orgasm, not wanting the pleasure coursing through his veins to stop. He didn’t care as overstimulation hit him, he continued to stroke himself at the thought of making you happy and making you feel good.

A whimper escaped his mouth was cut off in his throat as the feeling of his hand became too much but he didn’t stop.

Ghost was tired but he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Ghost grunted when the but of a gun was slammed into his face. He was knocked into the wall of the crumbling building as blood soaked his mask but he quickly threw a punch at the enemy in front of him.

He grabbed the gun and with all of his strength, slammed it into the man’s nose with enough force that he heard it crack. He didn’t waste any time kicking the man in the knee, hearing it pop as well, before he pulled out his pistol and shot the man three times in the chest.

As the man’s body crumpled to the ground, Ghost picked up his weapon and raced towards the exit.

His head pounded from repeated blows to it and he was sure that a few of his ribs were fractured from the pain he felt in his chest every time he took a breath. He didn’t pay any attention to the pain as he kept the gun secured tightly in his hands.

The sound of gunshots outside mixed with the ones inside the building and it was hard for him to know where the enemies were or weren’t. This mission wasn’t like the regular chaos on the battlefield, this was a dangerous mess that could result in the death of one or more of them if they didn’t pull back.

“Simon, where are you?” Price’s voice came in through his ear piece and his eyes narrowed. “We need to leave!”

“Almost there-”

Ghost was cut off as he was tackled to the floor. The back of his head smacked against the concrete but he didn’t have time to feel the pain as he fought against his attacker who straddled him.

He slammed his punches up at the man and hit as hard as he could. He tried to avoid any of the punches that were thrown at him but he was no longer fighting with his training, he was fighting out of pure adrenaline and the desire to survive.

The man pulled out a knife and tried to plunge it into Ghost’s chest but he quickly grabbed his wrist, using all of his strength to push it away from him.

Ghost jabbed his fingers into the man's ribs as hard as he could and managed to gain the upperhand in the fight. He shoved the man off of him before he climbed on top of him, punching him as hard as he could before he reached for a gun to end the fight.

The air was knocked out of Ghost’s lungs when the man stabbed the knife into his side at a force that felt like he had been hit by a car. Pain rippled up through his body and he suppressed a scream as he broke the man’s wrist that held the knife, continuing his barrage of punches.

He took the knife out of his side and plunged it into the man's throat. He watched him choke on his own blood with bloodlust until the man went limp.

Ghost felt lightheaded as he struggled to breathe. He could feel the blood gushing out of his side at an alarming speed that not even his hand could stop as he pressed it firmly on his side. He clenched his jaw tightly, suppressing a wince as he crawled off the dead body and stayed on the floor on his hands and knees.

His legs felt weak, almost numb as he tried his hardest to stand but he couldn’t get up. He began to crawl, an attempt to make it to the exit still as he knew he needed to get out of there, and left a trail of his blood behind.

The sounds of gunfire sounded far away in his ears, the voices of his team sounded as if they were speaking to him from the other side of a tunnel.

He could barely crawl across the floor and when he nearly collapsed, he decided to stop and sit against one of the walls.

He felt cold, unnaturally cold as he looked down at his side and saw the growing red stain on his jacket. He grimaced from the pain and leaned his sore head against the wall as his eyelids started to get heavy as he mumbled something into the comms, unable to really understand the words that came out of his mouth.

“I’m coming!” Gaz yelled in his ear but he didn’t reply.

Ghost blinked slowly as he stared up at the ceiling. The last thoughts he had were of you and your smile. He thought about the way you would hold onto him when you hugged him and the warmth you gave him every time. The way you always seemed so happy to see him and how you always treated him with softness that made him feel safe.

He wanted to see you again. He wanted you to fall asleep on him again and he wanted to kiss you like he loved you because he did. He wanted to do everything he used to do with you just one more time but he couldn’t move.

Your name slipped from his mouth as if he were calling to you. As if you would come and take him into your arms one last time.

He heard Gaz call out his name from the room he was in but he didn’t have the energy to keep his head up anymore as his vision went black and he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Link to part 5

A/N: Figured I would make it up to you guys with smut since I was mean last chapter, expect more angst and smut later on >:) Also ignore the bad action scenes I didn't put that much effort into them since they weren't what the story was about

(don't worry he's not dead I promise)

The tag list is closed!! I am so happy that so many of you want to be tagged for this story but I will not be accepting anymore requests to tag people in this series since this list has gotten long and it's hard to keep track of how many I have to add! Sorry for the inconvenience!

Taglist: @kat-nee @alexwashere82 @suicidal-marshmallow @shuttlelauncher81 @poohkie90 @reiya-djarin @k4marina @mionacaped @igotmajordaddyissues @xxghostyx @pasta-m1lk @imstargazing @c00kied0ugh44 @quesowakanda @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @kgive @konig-is-bbygrl @otaku8 @lialacleaf @frazie99 @gremlin-ghuleh @spencerreidisbae123 @alastorhazbin @writingmysanity @lillianastuff @alastorhazbin @reid490 @projectdreamwalker @backupgal @wobblywolf @lockleywife @sheepsel @dead-noodles @vellicora @marshmallowtraver @sinclairbrosbathmat @argella1300 @sofasoap @crazyfandomist

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #mw2 ghost #cod ghost #ghost mw2

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