Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

Chicago pt-2

His words were a husky, breathless growl, filled with raw desire and promise. His hands moved to your body, his touch rough and demanding as he explored the curves and dips of your form. There was a possessiveness in his grip, a primal need to claim you as his own.

He pushed you down onto the bed, his body covering yours, his weight pinning you in place. He leaned in, his mouth just inches from your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"You asked for this," he muttered, his voice a low, hoarse growl.

"Can I love you?" You asked.

His eyes darkened at your question, the intensity in his gaze increasing tenfold. "Love me?" he repeated, his voice a gruff whisper.

He didn't respond immediately, his hands still roaming your body as he let the question hang between you.

Finally, he spoke, his voice firm. "You can try," he said quietly.

"I am ready to try and succeed." You whispered.

His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt or uncertainty. Finding none, he pulled you even closer, his body molding against yours.

"You have no idea what you're asking," he warned, his voice rough with desire. "I don't do love. I don't do romance."

You sat up slowly, "You can and you will, you saved my life on the godddamn roof when I was about to jump. Wasn't that you care? What was that?"

Ghost's usually stoic expression faltered for a moment, his eyes flashing with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability at your words. He had saved you from jumping off the roof, but it hadn't occurred to him that you would interpret it as a sign of care.

"That was just me doing my job," he said gruffly, deflecting your question.

"You were doing another job before that when I saw you with your sniper pointed towards that building and shooting that man. Yes! I saw all that since he was a terrorist you saved countless lives by taking him out." You gently touched his face.

His breath hitched at your touch, his jaw tensing slightly under your fingertips.

"That was nothing," he grumbled, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness. "Just doing what I'm trained to do."

Your thumbs gently brush his cheeks as you cupped his face. "And what what was that when you saved me from jumping?"

His eyes closed momentarily at your touch, his body growing tense as he attempted to resist the effect you were having on him. He hated how your fingers on his skin made his heart rate quicken and his thoughts scramble.

"I just... couldn't let you jump," he murmured after a pause, his voice thick with emotion. "It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more."

"Weakness! Are you so weak that you save countless lives everyday or are you so dumb that you beat yourself up to take one life to save countless others?"

His eyes snapped open at your words, his expression hardening. He was used to being called many things, but weak was not one of them.

"I'm not weak. I never have been," he retorted gruffly. His hands came up to grip your wrists, gently but firmly pulling them away from his face. Despite his harsh tone, there was a hint of defensiveness in his gaze.

His expression softened slightly at your words, his grip on your wrists loosening as he realized the truth of your confession.

His eyes studied yours, searching for any hint of deception or manipulation, but finding only innocence and genuine emotion.