Chapter Text
Hanging up and tossing the heavy wired phone onto your desk, you groaned in pure exasperation. The paperwork on your desk seemed endless, the monotonous and drab of black ink on bright white paper burning your irises, enforcing a migraine upon you.
You've just gotten off the phone with, whoever the fuck, discussing the possibility of getting an assistant to help you with the excess of paperwork you've been filling out as of late. You were a doctor, your main job consisted of ensuring your patients didn't bleed out under your steady and careful hand. It was already hard enough, and now you had the added stress of the sneering stack of papers mocking you.
You clicked the ballpoint pen, bouncing your leg as the tip of the pen hit the paper, dark ink pooling and bleeding through the thin material. Your grip tightened just then, the bouncing of your leg increasing tenfold as your thoughts ran wild.
And as you continued to think, you remembered a crucial detail.
The Task Force, fuck, they're coming back today. From some mission, and you're sure Gaz told you all about it while you gave him a routine checkup, but for the life of you, you couldn't remember the main gist of it.
You didn't want to face them, face him.
•
Biting back a wail of pain as you removed the intravenous line from Soap's arm, you heard Gaz howl in laughter from the spare cot he rested on. Which had garnered him an angered stare by Soap.
"You're such a baby," Gaz laughed, turning on his side to stare right at both you and Soap.
"Fuck off." Soap gritted, hissing in agony as you continued to stitch up his lesion.
"You gonna make me?" He teased, his stare not faltering on Soap's. He glared at him, about to retaliate with his own quip before you proceeded to wipe his wound clean, the sterile stench of the antiseptic flooding your nostrils. He let out a muted scream, his good arm covering the top half of his face.
"Keep still, Johnny." You huffed, adjusting the surgical mask pulled over your features. Gaz seemed to be having a field-day at watching the scene unfold, a smug smile on his lips.
"Gaz, I can stop the morphine drip, you know." You hummed, a hidden smile of your own forming. He looked at you, a glint of fear striking his honey eyes. You held back the urge to laugh, you enjoyed teasing both of these boys in your office, and you knew the three of you were aware that you'd never do anything to bring them more pain.
"Sorry ma'am."
Now it was Soap's turn to laugh, and you discarded your surgical gloves while hearing the two hurl crude insults at one another. They provided decent white noise, and you'd take that over the deafening silence of your rampant thoughts whilst your pen danced elegantly over the various documents.
The two eventually quieted down, a tranquil silence over them as you watched the pain medication take effect on their bodies. Not even five minutes passed before you heard them snore loudly, all cuddled up into the scratchy hospital blankets.
It'd been a couple of days since the entirety of the Task Force had returned. You've only been treating Gaz and Soap, your full attention on them. Usually, you would treat them all, but you honestly didn't want to face Ghost one on one. So, to take some heat off of you, you asked another medic to tend to both Price and Ghost. Just so he didn't feel like you'd singled him out.
But, your attempts would be in vain.
•
Stretching and hearing your joints and ligaments pop in relief, you slumped over the desk, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you filed the last group of papers. Both Gaz and Soap had left your office today, thanking you for taking care of them (after raiding your lollipop drawer).
So, you sat alone, the small swooshes of air against your body feeling welcomed, the ceiling fan above creaking with every spin. All you'd have to do now was stamp the final line of the packet, ensuring you've read over the contents carefully, and then you were free. Free to run into the uncomfortable and ill-fitting confines of your bunk.
You were lost in the work, so much so you hadn't even noticed the hulking figure taking up most of the space within your office.
"You're avoidin' me."
You nearly shrieked in terror, almost developing a fatal case of tachycardia as you held your hand over your rapidly beating heart.
"What?" Part of you wasn't really surprised that Ghost had managed to sneak up on you, it was his job, after all.
"You're avoidin' me," He repeated, stepping closer to you in large and fluid strides.
"No, I'm not avoiding you. Don't be ridiculous." Yes, I am.
"Actin' all innocent on me," He was right across from you now, his large hands resting on the cheap and fake wood of your desk, hearing it creak under his weight, "we both know that's not the truth."
"It is." It isn't.
"Get up." He commanded, and you knew that tone, that authoritarian inside of him being twisted and used against you in a way that it shouldn't.
"I'm busy." Liar.
"I won't ask again."
You shuddered lightly, telling yourself that it was just because of the excessive air from the ceiling fan skating across your heated skin. But you knew such a thing was a falsified truth.
"What? What is so important that-"
"Come over here." He hushed you before you could even finish your sentence, seating himself on a sterilised and neatly prepped cot. It was all too familiar, to the point where that same damned familiar throbbing and heat was felt in between your legs.
Your legs shook, hesitating to even take a single step towards Ghost, your mind and body both telling you different things. It was tearing you apart in the most agonising and tortuous way.
Still, you'd made you way towards him, standing idly as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. A scowl formed on your lips, eyes flickering to his chilled demeanour. You hated how he was always so calm- so tranquil and at ease, like he wasn't feeling the same things you were, maybe because he's not, at least not for you.
"Sit." He spread his massive legs, indicating exactly where he'd wanted you. You listened wordlessly, taking a seat on his muscled thighs, your hands fisting into your scrubs.
"Make it quick," You huffed, now attempting to remove your uniform, "I have a lot to do." You sighed, fingers hooking at your waistband and pulling down, or at least you'd attempted to do so, being stopped by a harsh hand encapsulating both of your wrists.
He held your hip with his lone hand, beginning to slide you over the thick muscle of his thigh, hearing you gasp in shock. His eyes pierced your own, roughly continuing to move you atop him, the material of both your scrubs and panties against your clit overwhelming.
The both of you continued to stare at one another, your breath quickening as you felt that cursed familiarity of your orgasm creeping up on you with silent strides. Your hands were still stuck in Ghost's firm grasp, wanting nothing more than to grab at him, to pull his mask forward and kiss him like you'd perish without it. Without him.
Just thinking of such a scenario had you reeling, your hips jerking as you felt your clit being rubbed just by his thigh alone. The feeling of his as well as your uniform dragging against that sensitive nub making your mind go hazy.
As you felt your release become imminent, he stopped his movements, unshackling your hands from his grip. He hastily tore your uniform, something of which he'd only done when he was particularly angered. With you or his mission, you had no clue.
His cruel stare on you was discomforting, he looked at you like you were a piece of meat- something subhuman. Just a body to warm his cock, and how fitting your thoughts were- because he quickly slipped his own bottoms down, revealing his erect cock for a split second before burying himself inside of you.
Always so rushed, hurried and lacking any control. A crude opposition to him on the field.
You suppressed a high pitched moan, hands itching to touch him, to ground yourself against him and ride him until your thighs would burn akin to hellfire. He let out a deep grunt, his hand slapping the excess flesh at your ass, bouncing you atop him like you had been weightless.
As much as you didn't want to admit it, you were familiar with the fact that you were just Ghost's stress reliever. How he'd prowl into your office during the late hours to bend you over any surface and fuck you until muted screams left your lips.
For a while, you didn't mind it at all.
In actuality, you'd enjoyed such a thing. You felt an odd sense of honour swell in your chest, at the sole fact that he'd chosen you. He chose your body to hold onto, to whisper vile and cruel things in your ear, to grab at your body like that was all you were- a body. Void of a soul, a conscious, anything.
Being his personal fuck-doll had its ups and downs, where he'd make you orgasm more times than you could count, fucking you until you cried. But the polar opposite, of when he'd leave dark purples on your thighs, your hips, neck, fucking everywhere.
Like he was doing now.
You felt his hands roam around your softer body, catching at the fat of your hips, anchoring himself to you and bouncing you atop his thick and girthy cock with fervour. It was as if he didn't know the extent of his raw strength, already biting dark hues of purple into your soft and delicate skin.
Your eyes fluttered shut as your body struggled not to slump forward, flush against his strong chest. You didn't touch him, you swore you wouldn't. He didn't deserve it. A pathetic little thing you told yourself, just so you didn't get attached, because there was nothing more you'd yearned for to hold him like a lover did. To wrap your arms around him and feeling him lovingly piston into you, to kiss your cheek tenderly while your wet insides squeezed him with a vengeful grasp.
It's all too late, anyway.
He stopped, grabbing your chin and watching as your eyes popped open in disillusion.
"Eyes on me," Low, accented tone gravelly as he commanded you.
How dare he, your eyes met his instantaneously. Watching intently as his platinum lashes rested on his zygoma for a millisecond before opening back up to look at you. To look into you, to pick you apart, seemingly, until you turned to nothing. An obedient creature glued to his side, aching knees and jaw being ignored as you served him, like the good little thing you were.
His strained sounds were heard, quiet groans and animalistic sounding grunts as he thrusted upwards, bashing into your womb again and again. It hurt so good and you fucking hated it. You hated how just sole eye contact alone would have you naked and pressed against his clothed chest, fat cock stretching your insides.
Fuck, you loved it.
You absolutely adored it, being stuffed full of him, his mushroom tip pressing flush against your womb. Loved the bruises, the blemishes he's caused. His markings, claiming you as his, his plaything. Like an infants grubby hands over a shiny new toy, slobbering all over it and showing everyone that it was theirs.
No, you'd repeat, whilst being lifted off of him, your hands linked with each other behind your back, before being brought back down to him. Heavy cock twitching inside your tight walls, slick coating his dick, veiny and big, always reaching new spots inside of you. Spots that had searing stars incandescently tug at your vision.
Conflicting emotions, a curse, something that'd have you lay awake at night. Lay in your own cot, or sat next to an ill patient. Thinking about him, wondering, perhaps he was thinking of you, too.
How laughable.
Your eyes wandered, the interminable connection of your irises to his inadmissible. His eyes were always so eloquent, nearly showing what he'd been thinking. You couldn't stand it. You enjoyed the mask, enjoyed not seeing his face, because then, it'd be that much more personal. He wouldn't be Ghost to you anymore, he'd be someone, someone more than just a bed warmer.
Would you, though?
He squeezed your hips, garnering your attention to him once more. His brows furrowed, a thin sheet of sweat encompassing the two of you. He continued to fuck into your slick heat, revelling in how you always took him so well, as he said. Drunk off of you alone, and it was one of those nights.
"Fuckin' made for me,"
Just a slip of the tongue.
But no, you took that and ran with it, lungs burning while your legs continued to sprint. Oh, how you wished that was the case. You were tethered to him for a single purpose, for him to empty himself into you, to lay you across the hospital cot and fuck you from the back, always feeling him so deep. A place where no other man could dare to traverse, could never reach, anyway.
Was it on purpose?
Moulding you to his shape, getting you accustomed (it was always impossible anyways, taking him) to his cock. To spite you when you settled down, found a man who would love you, who would care for you. He wouldn't be enough, because Ghost already left his mark.
You were knocked out of your thoughts, thankfully, when you felt his gloved fingers begin to rub tight circles into your clit. His eyes now studied where the two of you had been joined, watching as your greedy pussy would always desperately pull his girth back in for more, a pathetic beg, don't leave.
You suddenly wailed, your hands grabbing his broad shoulders for purchase as your body shook. Toes curling, back arching as your eyes etched shut, sparkly tears trailing down your heated cheeks. You came hard against him, your essence coating his cock as he fucked you relentlessly, low and deep growls rumbling through his chest. He cursed, feeling your velvety insides continuing to take him deeper inside, he's already giving it all to you but fuck, you want more, you want it all.
"Such a greedy little thing."
He always knew what you were thinking.
"Love when I fuck you like this, don't you?"
Yes, no, yes, no-
"When I fill you up, fuckin' love it, don't you," He groaned, throwing his head back as he buried himself deep within you, nearly invading the inside of your womb as his warm and thick seed filled you. Marking you so that no other man could ever- would ever, do something striking even to him. Such a cruelty, acting like you'd belonged to him. You didn't know what he'd looked like, only aware of his name from medical records.
"Always so good for me."
And you hated how that had been the unvarnished truth.
•
You stared at your hands, ungloved and bare. Soft, skilled, shaking.
Why?
You'd touched him, in a way you swore you wouldn't ever. You'd expected to be thrown off, to be looked at as scum, worse than such a thing.
It was an accident, you didn't mean to. You weren't thinking straight, it was unfeasible with him splitting you open atop his lap. You just needed to ground yourself against him, for fear of falling, pathetic excuses.
A rueful thing you'd been over the next days, your usual adept hands quivering and trembling as you'd treated some of your patients.
You heard the click of a door open, and your posture snapped up, glossy eyes searching for who entered your space.
A breath of relief as it had just been Price.
You snapped a fresh pair of gloves on, bright blue going well with your dark scrubs. You led him to a cleaned cot, asking him just what the problem had been.
"Nothin' much, love." You loathed yourself for how your heart desired him to call you more pet names. To fill in Ghost's shadow and take care of you, as the natural leader he was. You were sure he'd be excellent at doing so.
"Missed your stitches, though." He huffed, relaxing into the bed as you ran an intravenous line for him just in case.
You looked at him, a quizzical glint in your eye. "My medic didn't take good care of you two?" Just you-
"Oh, no, didn't mean it like that." He looked penitent, kind eyes trailing over you before returning back to your stare. "Just meant that you know me better, sweetheart."
It was the truth, you were the Task Force's doctor, after all. It was just an innocent compliment of how good of a physician you'd been. Yet, you felt dizzy, the room a pirouette as you forced yourself to become calm.
"I'll keep that in mind next time, Price." You smiled, motioning for him to lift his shirt to check his lesions and other deep gashes that required attention. Your medic had done a good job, stitching and sterilising his wounds. But, the stitches were beginning to loosen, and you didn't need the wound becoming infected.
Your touches on him were always solicitous on him, more so than the others. Your gloved fingertips gentle on his muscled body, your stare wrongfully looking at his abs, lower and lower to that mesmerising trail of h-
"Gaz and Soap again?" He questioned, his gruff voice shaking you.
You looked at him confused, before he nodded towards the empty jar of sweets. You hadn't even noticed, they must've done so when you were out of the room, those stealthy bastards.
"Had to be," You laughed, making a mental note to restock the jar, "sorry you didn't get one."
"S'alright love." He hummed, his striking blues closing as you redid the stitches over his abdomen, watching as his stomach twitched in response to your careful and airy touch.
You finished quickly, removing your gloves and tossing them in a spare bin. You questioned if he'd wanted the extra fluids and medication, but he'd declined, thanking you for patching him up.
You motioned to clean your station, grabbing the bag of saline fluid before it had popped open, spilling all over your top. You cursed in vexation, more angry at the lost supplies rather than your soiled uniform.
Price quickly was at your side, spare cloth in hand as he attempted to clean the saline from your scrubs. "It's fine," You said, not used to being so close to him. His scent was intoxicating, that hint of smoke already having you feel utterly addicted to his presence alone.
He brushed you off, offering his services as he continued to dry you off. The cloth caught on the neck of the scrubs, pulling the material just below your clavicle, just where that array of purple lay, unperturbed on your skin. He let out a rushed apology, fixing you to look decent, his demeanour so focused on you.
Normally, it was the other way around.
But it felt nice being the one taken care of, for once.
•
Tossing your uniform into the laundry, you felt nice in a new set of clothes. No longer being confined to scrubs, but instead a comfortable cotton outfit against you. You eyed yourself in the mirror, clicking your tongue in distaste. Dark rings of purple running around the underside of your eyes, looking as if you haven't slept in years. Hell, it felt that way, too.
You'd had a long day, full of monotonous paperwork, sobbing soldiers who had flooded your office, crying for their mothers- and the thoughts of both Ghost and Price so tiring. You were giddy to finally be able to curl up into your bunk, drifting off into a dreamless sleep before your day would repeat at dawn.
And that was exactly what you had planned to do, to forget the days contents and reset and rest for the next.
But there Ghost was, at your door and telling you something, his words lost on you as you stared at him, balaclava pulled securely in place. Your eyes were fixed on his shoulders, right where you'd touched.
He beckoned you on to follow after him, and you wanted to plant your feet to the floor. To tell him no, to tell him that you had better things to do than to get fucked by him tonight.
Of course, you didn't do any of that.
Instead, you followed his lead, not asking a single question the entire way.