Callsign: Princess // Ghost x Reader/oc

16

Ghost's lips trail across my neck.

I can feel his warm breath against my skin, his arms holding me pressed tight against him and completely unyielding. There'd be no escaping his grasp even if I want to.

And I don't want to.

A soft gasp leaves me as he kisses softly at my throat. Instinctively, without thinking, my arms snake around his neck, my thighs hooking around his hips. I feel him everywhere. I feel my skin light up, my core clench in desperation.

In his low, deep voice, he says, "Do you want it, Princess?"

His hand trails over my abdomen, heading lower until I whimper, eyes rolling back in my head in anticipation as he reaches between my legs —

The roar of a plane wakes me up with a jolt.

I lie frozen in Ghost's arms, my eyes wide in horror. There's nothing unsavoury happening. Our limbs entwined, the ridge of his muscles firm against my own skin — but no wandering hands. No lips pressed against my neck. Of course not. He wears a mask.

It was all in my head.

Oh my fucking god, I'm having wet dreams about Ghost.

I try to jerk myself out of his grasp, but he's wrapped us up so tight there's no room to move. I'm forced to wiggle and push against him in the pitch black darkness, fighting for bare inches of space. I need a cold shower. I need a fricken lobotomy. I'll take my chances with the thermal imagers if it means I can forget what just happened.

I'm going insane. I always thought I'd last longer than this in a survival situation, but clearly it's taking more of a toll than I thought. Maybe it's the heavy G's. Maybe I'm not cut out for isolation. I can't blame lack of sleep, because I was fricken sleeping when it happened. It'll be claustrophobia. That's all. We're in this tight, cramped bunker, buried beneath the snow, in the middle of nowhere.

And I can't bloody untangle myself from Ghost and these blankets.

Then he speaks, snapping me to stillness. "Easy, Princess. What's got you in such a state?"

Shit. How long has he been awake for? Heat burns at my cheeks, and I'm suddenly grateful for the pitch black down here.

"I'm sweating," I grumble. It's not a total lie — somehow, Ghost has warmed me to this point even in a snowstorm. "I need a shower."

"You're not going anywhere."

My muscles tense. "Yes, I am."

"Not with these planes flying so close. Once they begin to clear out, we'll head up for food and showers. Until then, we've got enough water down here to last a few days."

"A few days?" I repeat, incredulous. "We're in a concrete box buried beneath the snow. We're not going to eat for days?"

"That's not true. I've got dehydrated apple cinnamon crumbles we can eat, and toothpaste if we get really desperate."

I narrow my eyes, though it's not as if he can see it in the dark. "You planned this?"

His voice is firm. "I knew it was a possibility."

"Fuck this." I push away even harder, scrambling at the layers of insulation. Ice cold bites at my skin immediately. "You stay down here with your cinnamon crumbles if you want, I'm heading up for supplies."

Before I can escape, he takes me in his arms. Pushes me down to the floor and rolls over until he's pinning me in place. My body lights up in response and there's a flash of my dream through my mind — it only makes me angrier.