Ghost Shorts | Fem!Reader

HE DOESN'T WANT TO SHARE

"Do you HAVE eyes, Ghost? What was that?!"

He missed. Your voice pierced through the air, making him grind his teeth together again. You enraged him. Training sessions didn't help his animosity towards you. Someone smaller, younger, faster, better. He felt affronted that you had even been brought on; another Lieutenant.

"The rise through ranks is incredible, Simon.You're going to have to learn to share. She will be a valuable asset."

Aggravated fingers had rubbed at his thighs before he had gotten up and stormed out. Price's voice, but Laswell's words. That was three weeks ago. He hadn't spoken to you since, except to fire childish quips in your general direction.

"Let me know when you start trying."

Spiteful words made the hairs on his neck stand up, he had slowly grown to hate the sound of your voice. The tone. The pitch.

"I could do this with my eyes closed, love."

"Sure seemed like they were closed that time."

Equally sick of his attitude, you returned his hostility at every turn. He acted so tough, so superior, but you knew you could crush him. With a preference for it being underneath you. No other idea pleased you more, the image of your name coming off his lips, powerless. Submissive. More shots sounded as he continued. Price had paired you together to train, utilising the air of competition as fuel for the fire which pushed you both on harder. And it had worked perfectly. Your confidence had raised to a peak, you could practically send two bullets through exactly the same spot, not another single fibre of paper torn.

"I'm done."

He'd reached the end of this tether, completely burned by his own frustrations with you, pent up black rage. Hands deftly clicked the safety back on, mag out, setting the rifle down. Eyes followed him as he walked away, setting his ear protection down on the table behind you before turning round, leaning on the edge, arms folded, staring at you.

"Surely you're not giving up that easily?"

A scoff, a shake of the head, balaclava shifting as he moved. You could've been mistaken in thinking he actually smiled, but not out of happiness, no, quite the opposite.

"Fuckin' sick of this."

Gaze returned back to the target in front of you. Chin flexing, eyes narrowing; imagining what satisfaction a print out of his smug face stuck on that damn dummy would bring you. You copied his actions; safety on, weapon down, ear protection off. A few strides carried you over beside him.

"What do you want? An apology? For taking

your arse for a walk every day since I got here?"

You weren't wrong, you really were better than him. The difference was marginal at best, something no one else would take notice of, however it was definitely the centre of his attention. He always relied on his strength, his size. You were nimble, stealthy. You took pride in knowing you got under his skin so much, a threat.

"I don't want anything from you."

"Yeah well, you could benefit from some lessons in humility, Simon."

He peered down at your form from the corner of his eyes whilst you remained stood, leaning next to him, revelling in the power you held over this mans fragile ego.

"You're clued up on humility, Lieutenant?"

Lips twisted to the side, suppressing a grin. He didn't want to know how badly you wanted to teach him such things. Or maybe he did. Enemies to lovers, that would be novel. Usually you didn't do such things with fellow soldiers but he was something else. You pushed yourself off the table, starting towards the door. But he called after you.

"You think we're finished?"

You stopped. Three more words overstepped the boundaries between you.

"Get back here."

Get. Back. Here.

Mouth open, tongue running over your teeth. You shifted your eyes to the side, your head twisting slightly over your shoulder. But you didn't move. Not yet.

"Pardon?"

"You heard."

Oh. He wanted to play play. You span on your heels, facing him. The distance between you closed, slowly, patiently, as you walked back toward him. His shoulders were raised, hollowing his chest, as he leaned back into the table. How alone the two of you were was suddenly at the forefront of your mind. Boots almost toe to toe, you looked up at him. A single eyebrow raised momentarily, waiting for him to speak. Ideas of actions that would have him whimpering at the behest of your hands, your mouth, creeped into your head. Words fell out of your mouth that shocked you.

"Honestly Simon, why don't we just get it over with and f—"

He reached out, gloved fingertips tracing your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. It immediately shut you up, ripping air out your lungs. His face, still as stone, showed nothing. He had never wanted someone as much as he wanted you in this moment. Suddenly felt so conquerable, all the anger contorting into tension. He wasn't sure who had the power, the control. His fingers trailed down your chin.

"You are such a vicious little bitch."

You grinned, placing your hand round his wrist, freeing yourself from his hold.

"Say it again, I liked it."

One hand on his belt, the other reaching out for yours, guiding it... Solid. Heat omitted onto your palm. He let your hand go, but you kept it there, staring. Cheeks reddening under his gaze. Was this a good idea? You knew once you started, there was no going back. No erasing this moment. Fingertips brushed over the material. He let out a nasally exhale. A damp spot formed.

Surely this was not a good idea.

Eyes met. Fingers gripped tighter. Breathing quickened. Heart rates increasing. This was a perfect time to gain some real power over him. Something you'd be craving. Something you wanted to do. A dance with the devil himself.