Kail Rose

Stop slouching, have a snack, take your meds.

Getting through each day IS being productive. Remember that.

The Lurking Horror found its diary, but insists it needs “more fancy ones”. I guess they’re taking after me?

Not that he directly says it, but even an SAS operative is hard-pressed to hide the subtle flinch of touch from his fellow teammates at all times. Skin always covered, always positioned away from people, it's an unspoken rule that no one touches ghost unless mandatory.

So why the hell does he let you, the new secretary, get away with it?

"Oh, sir! Hey, I needed an updated copy of that file–" you'll catch him in the hallway, hand on his bicep to get his attention before you lose him in the crowd. The strangest thing? Ghost actually stops and listens carefully. No tensing up or glaring at all.

Or when you happen to be next to him in line for dinner, you have no qualms bumping your shoulder into his side in lieu of greeting with full hands, already saying "hi, sir! Yknow, I was looking over those reports, and I really appreciate how you—"

It's an absolute mystery to the team. How you ghost is more than happy to be practically manhandled by you in crowded spaces or simply casually touched in conversation. There's only one logical explenation.

Ghost has a crush.

After that, it just becomes more obvious. How he angles himself closest to you in a group. How he subtly leans into your touch on certain days.

Curiously, gaz asks you about it one day. A casual water cooler ambush, designed to look purely coincidental when he interrogates "oh, you and ghost talk often, don't you?"

"Hm? Oh, ghost? Yeah! He's a great friend!" You smile, all wide and unassuming. of course you have no fucking clue, because ghost is damn difficult to read even to trained soldiers. You go on to smile to yourself, fidgeting with the manila folder held against your clipboard. "I'm honestly shocked he tolerates me so much, what with being just some secretary. But he's nice to talk to, yknow?"

...and it seems you are just as horribly enamoured by him. How the hell neither of you has figured it out is beyond the team.

The bass was drilling straight into your skull. At some point it stopped being music and started being punishment.

You were slumped sideways in the booth, cheek pressed against the table, eyes barely open. Your drink sits abandoned somewhere, condensation pooling like evidence of your bad decisions.

“Okay, that’s it,” your friend mutters. “We’re calling him.”

Your brain latches onto one word. shit.

“Him.”

You lifted your head an inch and immediate regret washed through you. The world tilted like it’s trying to throw you off.

“Don’t—” you mumble, reaching out. You miss completely, hand just… floating there. "traitor...", you mumble as you mock glare at your friend , who was busy dialing the number.

you don't realize as time passed, but you could sense it, a presence that cuts through the noise, through the haze in your head.

A hand on your shoulder. Firm and warm.

“You with me?”

You blink slowly, forcing your eyes to focus- and there he was. Simon stood over you like the physical embodiment of consequences.

You smile as the sight of him , “…Hi, handsome.” you manage to mumble.

“Jesus.”, simon hissed through his teeth.

You push yourself up a little, which was already too ambitious. The room spined hard and you wobbled, but he’s already there. One arm slid around your waist, catching you before gravity won.

“Careful,” he mutters.

You leaned into him without hesitation, head tipping toward his shoulder.

“Mmm. You came,” you murmur, voice soft and absolutely not as subtle as you think it is.

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “Against my better judgment.”

You grin faintly. “Liar.”

His grip tightens just slightly as you sway again.

“Can you stand?”

You consider it and decide honesty is optional.

“For you? Always.”, you grin at him, earning mock irritation.

Your knees nearly give out and you end up clinging to him, arms wrapping loosely around his torso. Then his hand comes up, firm at your back, holding you in place.

“Right,” he mutters. “We’re not doing that again.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, eyes half-lidded.

“You smell nice.”

“That’s not the issue.”, he responds flatly , although you could see the faint red creeping behind his neck.

“It is to me.”, you breath out under his ear.

He exhales sharply, already shifting your arm over his shoulders, securing you properly. You, meanwhile, are having an entirely different experience.

“You always this strong?” you mumble, fingers bunching slightly into his shirt, breath fanning over his neck.

“Focus on walking.”

“I am focusing. On you.”

“Walk.”

You could tell he was nearing the end of his restraint. “Easy”, he says, lower now, hands gripping at your waist tighter.

You laughed softly, which immediately turned into a wince. Your head dropped briefly against his shoulder as he guided you through the crowd.

“Missed you,” you murmur, words slurring just slightly.

god you were gonna be the death of him

You grin lazily, pleased with yourself for reasons that will not hold up tomorrow. The outside air hits you and you inhale like it’s salvation. you lean harder into him, practically hanging off his arm now.

“Tired,” you mumble.

“I know love.”

His hand shifts at your waist, thumb pressing lightly, keeping you steady as you wobble again.

You let him guide you down into the seat, your movements slow and uncoordinated. You nearly miss the seat entirely, but his hand at your waist corrects it instantly.

“Careful,” he mutters.

you sigh as you feel the relief of the cool leather against your skin and the smell of his faint cologne.

God.

Was it the alcohol or pent up frustration- you couldn't tell, but something was definitely feeling wet down there.

Simon slid into the car after you," right, you feeling better ?"

"i'm feeling more than better you know...", you say eyeing him up and down, fingers grazing his bicep.

"god, love..", He huffs something that might be a suppressed laugh. Might. Hard to tell.

You reach up slightly, fingers brushing clumsily against his jaw.

“We should do something about that", you say ,gesturing to his now evident arousal.

His hand catches your wrist gently but firmly before you can fully commit to whatever that was.

“Not right now.”

“Please”, you breath out ,trying to get closer to him in the cramped space.

There’s a beat.

"god, you will be the death of me"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

.๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑๑♡⁠๑.

…yeahhh

anyway ghost has a cigarette settled between his chapped lips all while staring up at you. you’re riding him, although your movements are sloppy.

one massive hand sits atop your thigh, relaxed but every so often he gives it an encouraging squeeze cause “you’re doing such a good job for me, darlin’”

you’re sensitive. barely able to sit up straight as your pubic bone grinds against the patch of hair at the base of his cock. he’s buried so deep you don’t know where you end and he begins.

he has a hand resting behind his head, his biceps and the fat of his arms bulging each time he tenses. your inner walls drag along a vein that makes his eyes almost roll back into his skull.

i thought i got a good caption when the time comes to post these... i got none.