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Ghost had hardly been able to focus all night, not with you so close. Your warm side pressed to his own, heat added by the whiskey burning in his stomach. He could almost pretend you liked him.

Not that you actually did like ghost, not like that anyways. You are a spitfire of a sergeant, deadly and capable on the field. You blend into war like it's a second skin, slough it off in social situations and bond with near anyone. Ghost...respects you. More than that, he really wants to hold your hand or even kiss you.

Ever since you paired with him to take out an entire base of combatants he's had this weird stutter in his chest that he assumes is affection.

Then you lean in real close, hand squeezing his knee to keep balance and mumble "Yknow, si, I like you. I really like you."

And ghost responds in kind. Or. He thinks he does. But you're suddenly stumbling out to the back alley and gaz is hissing at him "go fix it, you ass. Apologize and kiss the poor sod."

Ghost nods slow, drunken. He smiles to himself at the thought of kissing you while he lumbers to the back alley. Ghost has been thinking about your lips on his. Has wondered if you kiss as well as you fight.

The alley is dingy, dirty. It smells like piss and old beer, a sour note of vomit, made worse by the light drizzle. No difference to ghost, he looks around and....and...you're not there.

He steps into the rain, check behind the dumpsters, around the corners.

That warm buzz of alcohol is replaces by sudden, cold dread. Ghost paces the alley, methodical, checking for any clues and—

The glint of clean metal amongst the trash.

Your knife, the one you told ghost you keep in your boots at all times just in case. There's blood on it.

Waking up in the morning and Price is buried between your legs. It's not his usual frantic or hungry pace, he's not eating you out to make you cum, he's just enjoying your taste, savouring you.

Price is the type to hold a hand over your stomach, keeping you from squirming too much, keeping you from taking away his breakfast. Price is the type to look at you through his lashes, tongue swirling over your clit, watching you as you throw your head back, whining, it's still too early for this even when you're shivering everytime his moustache and beard brushes against the tender skin of your inner thighs. But Price isn't the type to move away from your folds when he needs to murmur his scold; his words sending the softest of vibrations through your core “Don't start the day by complaining too much, doll”

Although he won't give you the chance to complain, or even utter a word, because when Price starts his morning with his head buried between your legs, there's a high chance you won't be getting out of bed at all that day.

You've been following this specific pod for some time, pod 141. A group of four bulls, they've cemented themselves as a formidable group in their territory.

"Okay, last tag," you tell your assistant, readying the poll. The 141 have been relatively compliant, familiar with the process as they've been tagged twice before.

"Here, gaz is swimming up," you lean closer over the edge, trying to stretch the pole as far as it will go "we can–"

A large wave rocks the boat, and with a cold splash you are plunged into icy water.

Really. It's poor foresight on your companies part to choose wet suits that resemble orcas.

The 141 pod swim around you curiously, inspecting the strange maybe-calf that fell off the boat. The biggest mer, ghost from the excessive white patterning on his face, reaches out to grab you. All the muscles in your body tighten, some base instinct telling you to curl up and hide.

Only...all ghost does is hold you to his chest before rising to the surface.

You gasp the second air is available, blinking salt water from your eyes to find the boat isn't far away and neither is your crew. The mers gather closer, chirping at you in a distinctive calf? Calf abandoned? Chirp that you've come to recognize from them.

Oh...oh shit.

Ghost passes you off to price, unable to do anything when the mers are so much larger than you. They think you're a calf, and you know this pod has a history of adopting lone mers.

"Bruv. You cannot ask people that out of nowhere!" He hisses, though you just raise a brow and take another bite of your cereal.

"so it's small, then? Didn't look like it when your lieutenant dropped by and you only wore those sweatpants—" you dodge the pillow thrown in your direction, barely keeping the milk from spilling over the side of bowl. "What? Im serious!"

"We agreed not to talk about that! ....it's...decent. why?" He rinses out the mug before placing it in the dishwasher, scrunching his nose at your seat on the counter but not saying anything. It's a fight he won't win.

"Ever try frotting?" Your cereal has gone soggy by now, so you scoop up as much as you can and shove it into your mouth and delight in the way gaz double-takes "Buddy of mine says it's good. Wanted to try it."

For a solid minute, gaz just looks at you, trying to decide if you're serious or not. You're not...inexperienced in general, but kyle knows you've never done anything with a cock. Finally he snorts "yeah, okay. C'mon, my room."

Which is how you end up whining, hands fisting into kyles sheets while he holds your dick against his. Christ's, it's good. Just like you thought, his dick is bigger than yours, makes your mind go hazy when you look down so see the wet slide between his hand.

"Fuck– mhh— hold still—" kyle groans, falling forward to press his forearm right above your head. His face is so close you could kiss him, every rough exhale hot against your skin. "That's it, there you go, baby."

You can feel your own orgasm approaching, hips jerking up into Kyle's first despite your best efforts "fuck— kyle please– I need– i–"

With a moan his lips connect with your, cock jerking and warm cum hitting your stomach. You're not far behind, moreso moaning into his mouth than attempting to kiss. He jerks you both off, mixing cum with lube in a slow slide.

Finally, just before you hiss at him about overstimulation, gaz is pulling away. He grins, slow and self-satisfied at your expression "so? Everything you dreamed of?"

"Holy shit, kyle." You huff, stare at the ceiling. "...again? Like. Right now?"

he came everyday at the shop, nervously placed his order without looking at anyone except straying his gaze just when you're handing him the unnamed coffee cup and then he would come by again the next day; same time, always on your shift.

and when you exchanged your shifts then it was purely coincidental that simon came making a second round for coffee just as unbothered and stiff and grudgy

huh, you wanted to see him smile or say something that wasn't keep the change.

“don't...this is scary.” your friend told you as much, with an ominous glance to where simon's bike made a stop outside as always on time.

“it might cheer him up though, c'mon.” you grinned—fixing the stupid collar—and greeting him with a big smile. “what would you like?”

simon perked, a physical spark in his ears and mouth. he stood like a brick for a moment because this was the first time you said anything to him. everyone had told you previously not to bother him and you did, they also told you not to mess up his coffee—always the same, and you did.

“the regular?” you tried.

simon nodded, then opened his mouth closing it again. “ah...yes, the regular.”

since it was a new dawn of new beginnings, you made his drink just he liked but smiled around the words and asked him. “So, what's your—”

“Simon.”

while you already knew his name from the card, but it was nice to hear him say it. he sounded exactly like he looked—but more fucking sexy.

You looped the 'o' towards 'n' feeling at once very much about improving handwriting. “Actually...” fuck, you couldn't believe you were doing this, “Uhm, you look like my first husband.”

simon's whole face shifted so much that you got anxious the way his eyes shone. Nerves popped out on his thick neck, and his arms flexed massively when he put hands in his leather jacket.

He stared, and you shockingly placed the coffee cup losing all your whimsy at once.

“So ya’ ere married.” simon said, all resigned and heavy and mysteriously dangerous.

“NO!” you explained, “Its a...it's a pickup line. I say 'oh woah you look like my first husband' and then you say 'oh how many husbands you got?' and then say I say haha, I never got married.”

You felt wild and erratic, feeling three heartbeat in one thumb, breathing hard then you swallowed, “Got it?”

it was a moment later that you realised this was how it must feel looking at the sun and not getting torn; simon smiled. a soft curl of his lips, a light trinkling around his iris, warm glow settling on his cheeks—impossiblily maddening, but a smile.

“how many husbands do you have?” he asked, very sincerely for an ordeal of playful pickup lines would allow.

all breath was knocked out of you, left with giddy anticipation and confetti, “I..I have never been married.”

thinking about simon 'ghost' riley who shocks the rest of 141 by announcing he's got a pet.

he doesn't specify what kind. cat, dog, tortoise.

just that they're a rescue.

the rest of 141 is... confused to say the least when they're finally invited over to meet the new member of ghost's household. when there's no sign of something fluffy or feathered or scaly, or even a dog bowl or litter tray.

there's just you. sprawled out in the rug in front of his electric fire; naked except for one of his old training t shirts and a black leather collar around your neck. cunt slick and shiny from where you've spent all day knuckle deep inside it; bored and waiting for simon to come home.

ghost just ruffles your hair as he walks past to the kitchen, "you can say 'ello. she doesn't bite."

but the way you bare your teeth and growl at the other three men from your position on the floor says something different.

Imagine ghost getting shot in the knee during a mission, a career ending injury, right?

He also happens to take a crowbar to the head, and it'd only by you dragging him some two miles does he even survive. You feel horrible about it, ghost was assigned to work with you after all. You spend hours in his hospital bed, even in the medically induced coma he's in.

You know your lieutenant better that most people do, had he been anyone else you would've even called yourself his friend. You also know that the military is all he has, that his apartment is empty and the only time he gets a warm meal on leave is when you drag him to your own apartment.

The whole team is there when the doctors wake him up. For the longest moment, ghost says nothing. He just stares at his legs covered by the thin blanket, the raised portion where bandage is wrapped around.

"...I'm done for then, eh?" He finally asks, voice completely blank. You have no idea how he feels about it, but you nod and take his hand.

"Cap has already handled it, sir. We got you a decent house and a monthly paycheck." A fact you had to fight like hell for, but it worked out nonetheless.

Ghost nods, looks at price "I'm not a lieutenant now? Officially done?"

At prices nod, you brace for some sort of anger or despair. An apology is already on the tip of your tongue when ghost looks back to you. His hand grips onto your bicep.

And proceeds to pull you in for a kiss.

You startle for only a second, mind stuttering over the reality of your lieutenant kissing you. Your hands burn where you touch his skin, melting into the kiss that really could be better. His lips are dry and the angle is awkward, but you'll be thinking of this moment for years later.

A cough from across the room.

Oh shit, your teams still here. You pull away, face blazing in embarrassment. Ghost looks nothing but please, with a smug look on his face as he lies back in the bed with content. At gazs pointed look and soaps gaping mouth, he says "wot? Ahm' not a lieutenant anymore. Can't get me on fraternization now, can you?"

You should probably stop to think about what just happened, but you've been fantasizing about your lieutenant kissing you since you met him.

So you ignore the sigh price lets out when you dive back in for another kiss. Ghost hums into your mouth, taking his time with this one and letting his hand rest on your waist. It's hot, heavy, and everything you've wanted.

It wasn't supposed to be a rescue mission. They didn't even know you were still alive. It took Ghost a few seconds to recognise you when he burst through the door to find you chained to the wall. You were beaten half to death, but you still managed to raise your head to smile at him.

"Please tell me you're real..."

And despite it all, despite how hurt you were, despite the active gunfire still going behind him, his cock started to ache. He grinned below the mask as he lifted your chin up, inspecting your bruised face.

"You look like shit..."

The laugh you let out was dry and broken, but real nonetheless. His fingers trailing down your neck to tug at the collar of your torn shirt. Tearing away the remaining scraps to bare your chest.

"Do you mind?" He rumbled as he pressed against your body, and you leaned back, eager for the warmth of another human being even when the hard edges of his gear dug into your ribs.

"Not like I can stop you..."

Ghost groaned lowly, slotting a thigh between your legs and lifting you slightly. Nosing into the crook of your neck as you sighed in relief, the weight on your wrists finally gone. You let out another short laugh.

"You sick freak... I've just been tortured for months and your first thought is to fuck me..."

He grunted softly, hands drifting between your legs and pressing against your clit. Watching your face as you bit down on your cracked lips.

"They hurt you?"

He shivered as you nodded. Grinding his throbbing cock against your thigh. Pulling back just for a moment to tug his cock out before latching onto you again, panting as he slotted at your entrance.

"Did you like it?"

Ghost's cock twitched when you nodded. Sliding into your slick heat, both your moans echoing off the small concrete room.

He fucked you hard and fast. Desperate. Like he hadn't gotten laid in the months you had been MIA. The antisocial loser probably hadn't.

You tugged on the chains. Desperate to touch him. To pull him closer and run your hands along his skin. He only seemed more aroused by your struggles. The rattle of metal spurring him on.

Ghost made sure to draw three orgasms out of you before he allowed himself to finish. A reward for staying strong for so long. Before finally thrusting close and spilling inside of you, tugging up his mask to mouth at your neck lovingly. Then undoing your restraints. Cradling you close and wrapping his jacket around your bruised form. Holding you against his chest when your legs gave out.