Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

Scream

"Fear in their eyes
Ash raining from the blood orange sky
I let everybody know that you're mine
Now it's just a matter of time "

The opulence of your office was a stark contradiction to the chaos unravelling beyond its walls. The mahogany desk, polished to a mirror-like gleam, stood as a testament to power and wealth, its surface immaculate save for the glowing monitors streaming live footage from the CCTV system. The images on the screens told a grim story: Task Force 141 was storming the building with relentless precision. The faint echoes of gunfire filtered through the fortified walls, each sharp crack a harbinger of impending doom.

You adjusted the Prada spectacles perched delicately on your nose, the gold frames catching the soft glow of the chandelier above. Rising with deliberate grace, you smoothed the rich, velvety fabric of your brown jersey dress, its figure-hugging cut sculpting your petite, hourglass silhouette Gold bangles chimed softly as you opened the drawer and retrieved the sleek, matte pistol resting inside. Its cold, familiar weight steadied your trembling hands.

For a moment, you allowed yourself a single deep breath. Control. Poise. Resolve. The words repeated like a mantra, a fragile bulwark against the growing panic clawing at your chest.

The corridor stretched before you, bathed in the dim, foreboding glow of emergency lights. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and shifting as if alive, feeding the unease you tried desperately to suppress. Each step you took, the click of your heels on the marble floor echoed louder in your ears, amplifying the stark emptiness around you.

Then the lights went out.

Darkness enveloped you with suffocating immediacy. Your breath hitched, coming in shallow, uneven gasps. You gripped the pistol tighter, the weapon feeling small and insignificant against the mounting dread. Somewhere ahead, gunfire crackled faintly, punctuated by muffled screams. Each sound hammered at your composure.

Turning a corner, your pulse skittered into chaos as a figure emerged from the shadows. He was a phantom in the dark, broad shoulders, towering frame, and an aura of menace that seemed to fill the space like a tangible force. The skull mask obscuring his face glinted faintly, its hollow eyes fixing on you with an intensity that froze you in place.

Before you could react, he closed the distance, a blade flashing in the faint light.

The steel kissed your abdomen with cold precision before sinking in. Pain erupted, hot and blinding, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips as your knees buckled. The rich fabric of your dress darkened as blood seeped through, warm and sticky against your skin.

His grip on your wrist was unyielding, pinning you effortlessly against the wall. The sheer strength in his hand was enough to force a choked cry from your throat. Shadows framed his masked face, but his eyes, deep, piercing pools of brown, locked onto yours with a cruel, magnetic pull.

"You don't look scared enough," he murmured, his voice low and edged with menace.

The knife twisted, a calculated motion that drew another strangled cry from you. Agony bloomed, spreading in sharp, unbearable waves, but it was his presence that overwhelmed you, the heat radiating from him, the dominance in his every movement. His breath was warm against your cheek, steady and deliberate, a contrast to the chaos inside you.

"P-please," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, what?" His tone mocked your desperation, lips brushing so close to your ear that the words felt like a physical caress. "Begging won't save you."

Your body arched involuntarily as the blade shifted again, the pain electric and all-consuming. You clawed weakly at his forearm, your strength insignificant against his iron grip.

"Such a fragile little thing," he mused, his voice almost amused. "And yet, you're still fighting. Adorable."

The humiliation burned hotter than the pain, yet you couldn't ignore the way his words sent an unwelcome thrill skittering down your spine. His masked face loomed closer, the hollow eyes seeming to drink in your every reaction.

"Why..." Why are you doing this?" you choked out, trembling under his hold.

His reply was cold, absolute. "Because I can."

The simplicity of his answer was more terrifying than the knife. It carried no malice, no justification, only a detached certainty that rendered your defiance meaningless. He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a curiosity.

"You're trembling," he said, his voice soft but edged with dark amusement. His gloved hand gripped your jaw, forcing your face to tilt up toward his. "Your fear is... intoxicating."

Your breath hitched as his hand travelled lower, a possessive touch that burned even through the barrier of his glove. "So small," he murmured, the words a cruel taunt. "So delicate. I could break you so easily."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but his hand wiped them away, the leather rough against your skin. "Don't cry," he whispered, his tone darkly seductive. "Not yet. I want to see how far you can fall."

The knife twisted again, and the sound that escaped you was different this time, soft, breathless, a sound that betrayed far more than pain. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, the cruelty in his gaze sharpening with satisfaction.

"Do you like this?" he asked, his voice a dangerous purr. "Does the pain excite you?"

"N-no," you whispered, but the tremor in your voice betrayed the lie.

His chuckle was low, vibrating through the narrow space between you. "Liar," he said simply. "Your body doesn't lie."

Shame and fury warred within you, but his dominance was absolute. The weight of his presence, the heat of his body, and the unrelenting intensity of his gaze, it consumed you.

"You'll scream for me," he said, his voice soft but menacing, a promise etched in stone. "And when you do, it will be the sweetest sound I've ever heard."

You clung desperately to the shreds of your composure, but in your heart, you already knew the truth. You were his, trapped in a web of fear, pain, and something darker, something you couldn't name but couldn't deny.

His fingers tightened around your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his. The touch was demanding, almost domineering. His eyes were deep pools of brown, the colour of rich earth.

He whispered, his voice low and cold. The blade twisting agonizingly inside you.

"Scream,"