Ghost Shorts | Fem!Reader

BOILING POINT

It had started out on the field. Dragging Gaz back into the truck, with one more prize in his possession, a little extra metal in his calf. And you bet it hurt like a fucking bitch. In fact, you didn't have to bet, the exact sentiments coming from Gaz's mouth as he tried to position himself in a way that felt remotely comfortable. This hurts like a fucking bitch.

"Sorry Gaz."

"Don't stress about it."

Hands were careful as they worked to cut up the cuff, gaining more access to his wound, leg already tourniqueted.

"Jesus, it looks awful."

"Yeah man, it's not good. But you'll live."

Regardless of how good you were at your job, you felt extra pressure tonight as another set of eyes burned into the back of your head, the tension higher than normal. No one else really noticed. That was until you got out, watching Gaz get trollyed off, rinsing your hands clean with your water. Simons voice cut the thick atmosphere between you like a freshly sharpened blade.

"Good work."

It wasn't genuine, it was complete and utter sarcasm. And it was the final straw. Your head snapped round, preceding your advance towards him, all aggression.

"What the FUCK is your problem?!"

Price swiftly stepped between the two of you when he saw Ghost puff himself up ready to retaliate, his arms taking the brunt as you both collided with them.

"ENOUGH! Take this somewhere else."

"Captain, he fuc—"

"IN. SIDE."

You did as he commanded, storming off as fast as your legs would carry you, a b-line straight for the offices knowing no one would be there at this hour. The perfect place to hash this out properly. Footsteps quickly made pace with yours which pissed you off even more. He was such a brute force, it was fucking unfair. Anything you wanted to do, he just did it better. It didn't matter how much you trained, how much experience you had, he outran you, out-lifted you, outwitted you like that was his job. And it got under your skin so much more since he had kissed you. Not just any old kiss either. Back pressed flat against the wall of his office, arms firmly round his neck to prop yourself up as you quickly ran out of oxygen. That unbearable tension between you had boiled over to a complete dissolve, compressed feelings exploding into intense passion. But you weren't an idiot, and a split second after it had commenced, you had pushed him away, the venomous fog of validation from his lustfulness clearing as fast as it had settled.

You were better than this.

He was just your angry, power hungry boss. As much as he tried to hide it, it consumed him, reflected through his dark eyes. You knew the stories, curious eyes reading over every detail in his file when you were first offered the job. Tortured, severe temper-management issues, enacted revenge vendetta. And that was before Task Force hired him. Before Shepard offered him the job. He was terrifying. And enticing.

Your fingers wrapped around the cold metal door handle, yanking it almost off its frame completely and you reached the finish line, your final destination; your desk. As you walked towards it, you yanked off your helmet and protective vest, throwing it down on the surface. Fingers brushed hairs which were stuck into dried sweat on your forehead; the grime, the dirt that covered you made you feel more disgusting and all the more vicious. He walked in slowly, unclasping his own vest. This was how he toyed with you, played you like a casual board game with his chess-like intellect. Showing uncanny levels of calm in this situation only served to rile you up even further. He set down his vest and his radio, leaning into one of the desks, long legs crossed at the ankles, arms wrapped over his chest. God fucking damn it. Even his nonchalant posture made you irate.