Ghost | Pick Me | Homewrecker

(Fem pov)

The first thing Ghost learns about Sammy is that she is loud in ways that don’t technically break any rules.

Not loud in volume. Not loud in incompetence. Loud in...presence.

The transfer paperwork comes through like any other. Just another operator reassigned to Taskforce 141, another body folded into the machinery of the unit. Price reads her file out during briefing with his usual steady tone: decorated marksman, excellent physical scores, adaptable under pressure.

On paper, she’s solid.

In person, she’s… something else.

Blonde hair tied back too neatly for field work, green eyes sharp and watchful, posture relaxed like she belongs immediately in a room full of men who usually make newcomers sweat.

She notices everything, especially Ghost.

That much is obvious within the first twenty-four hours.

Ghost doesn’t clock it the way the others do. Not consciously. He just registers proximity. Sammy standing near him during briefings, Sammy volunteering for his squad rotations, Sammy laughing easily at the dry, deadpan comments he throws out without thinking.

He assumes she’s eager. New transfers usually are.

The difference is that Ghost already has someone and everyone in the 141 knows it.

His fiancé.

Her.

{{user}}.

She’s been part of the team long enough that the relationship stopped being surprising months ago. It’s not soft or showy, Simon Riley doesn’t do soft in public, but the evidence exists in small things. The way his hand automatically checks her gear when they prep for missions. The way he positions himself between her and open angles without thinking. The way his voice changes, just slightly, when he says her name over comms. In private it's something else entirely, this is when he can be just...Simon. It's something he's still learning to accept that he might deserve, but he definitely knew he could never let her go.

So, when he proposed, it wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. He's far to hardened for that. It wasn't showy, it was private, deeply felt, absolute.

And he meant every word.

Which is why Sammy’s behavior barely registers to him as flirtation.

She touches his arm sometimes when she talks. Brushes past him in corridors. Stands close during debriefings. Laughs when he mutters something dark under his breath.

To Ghost, it reads as familiarity. Camaraderie.

To everyone else more socially apt, it’s something sharper.

Soap notices first. “New girl’s git a crush,” he mutters to Gaz one afternoon, watching Sammy lean against Ghost’s shoulder while pointing something out on a tablet.

Gaz grimaces. “Mate’s engaged.”

Soap shrugs. “Tell her that.”

Price notices too. But Price also watches Ghost when he looks at {{user}}, and whatever he sees there convinces him the situation will sort itself out. Ghost loves her. That part is obvious to anyone paying attention.

The problem is that Sammy is very good at reading people, and she studies {{user}} carefully. The cadence of her voice. The way she jokes with the team. The way she talks to Ghost when they think they’re alone.

Sammy learns and adapts. Sometimes she echoes the same humor. Sometimes the same tone. Just enough that Ghost doesn’t question it when conversations with her feel… familiar.

He never notices the imitation. He just thinks she fits the unit well.

Meanwhile, Sammy keeps pushing.

Standing a little closer. Touching his sleeve when she laughs. Leaning in when she talks.

And Simon Riley, focused, disciplined, emotionally dense when it comes to subtle interpersonal manipulations, doesn’t connect the dots.

He trusts his instincts about people.

And Sammy is careful not to trigger them.

---

It’s late evening when it happens.

The base is quiet. Most of the team scattered between showers, paperwork, or the mess hall.

Ghost is in the equipment corridor checking gear after a training run, sleeves rolled, skull mask still in place. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz softly as he tightens a strap on a vest laid across the bench.

Boots approach behind him.

He doesn’t turn.

“Thought you’d be here,” Sammy says casually.

Ghost glances over his shoulder. “Need something?”

She steps into the room, leaning against the doorframe like she belongs there. “Just a favor.”

He sighs under the mask. “Go on.”

“My comms piece is stuck,” she says, tapping the side of her ear. “You’re the gear wizard around here, right?”

He grunts and gestures her closer.

Sammy walks in, closing the distance easily. She’s smiling when she sits on the edge of the bench beside him, turning her head slightly so he can see the earpiece.

Simon focuses on the task immediately. Gloved fingers working carefully near her ear as he adjusts the mechanism. “Hold still,” he mutters, dry.

“Bossy,” she teases.

“Efficient.” The part pops loose easily. It didn't really seem stuck, he didn't question it. “There,” he says, stepping back.

Sammy doesn’t move away. Instead, she studies him, really studies him, for a long moment. “Can I ask you something?” she says softly.

Ghost folds his arms. “Depends.”

“What do you look like under there?” she points to his balaclava with a delicate finger.

He stiffens slightly. “Not happening.”

She pouts faintly, playful. “Come on. I’m just curious.”

“Everyone is,” he replies flatly.

She tilts her head. “Bet your fiancé sees it.”

There’s a flicker of warmth in his chest at that word. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“Lucky her.” Her tone is strange when she says it, half admiration, half something sharper.

Before he can respond, Sammy steps forward suddenly. Closer than she’s ever been. “Just once,” she murmurs. “No one’s around.”

His instincts prickle, but not enough, not fast enough. She wouldn't dare.

She reaches up before he can stop her. Her fingers hook under the edge of the balaclava and tug. Ghost’s reflex is delayed half a second by pure surprise.

The mask lifts just enough. She doesn't really take the time to look, she just leans in and pressed her lips to his. It was quick, playful, but he could still feel the shape of her smile against his lips. Her hand gripping the fabric of his collar to keep him still.

Simon freezes. Not reciprocating. Not responding. Just stunned. His brain is still catching up to the violation when the door opens.

Footsteps stop. He turns his gaze instinctively.

{{user}}.

Standing in the doorway.

Looking directly at them, with Sammy’s lips still against his.

Simon jerks back immediately like he’s been burned, pulling the mask down over his face again in the same motion. “Bloody hell—” he growls, voice rough with shock.

Sammy steps away slowly, eyes flicking toward {{user}}. There’s the faintest hint of satisfaction in her expression before she hides it.

Ghost doesn’t see that part.

All he sees is his fiancé standing there, having walked into the worst possible moment. And the realization slams into his chest like a physical blow, because he didn’t stop it fast enough. Didn’t even see it coming. And now the one person whose trust he values more than anything in the world just watched another woman kiss him.