Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost had been patient about this whole thing for far longer than he usually would’ve been. At first, it was just a text, one stupid little “hi” appearing on {{user}}’s phone late one evening while the two of them sat together on the couch. Ghost barely paid attention to it. People texted each other all the time, didn’t they? But then another message followed. And another. “How have you been?” “Miss you.” “Can we talk?” It wasn’t until {{user}} explained who the sender actually was, his ex, that Ghost started to feel something ugly stirring inside his chest. Apparently, the bastard had gotten “handsy” during their relationship before {{user}} finally dumped him. Ghost remembered the exact moment {{user}} explained that part to him, remembered how his jaw tightened beneath his mask, remembered the way his gloved fingers curled against his knee hard enough for the leather to creak. Even then, though, he tried not to overreact. They were only texts. Annoying, sure, but harmless.

Except the messages never fucking stopped. When {{user}} ignored him, the bloke kept trying. When he blocked the number, another one appeared. Then another. Calls started too, constant ringing late at night, missed calls stacking one after another on the screen like some desperate parasite refusing to die. Ghost watched the whole thing slowly wear on {{user}}, and every ignored notification chipped away at his patience too. More than once, he thought about tracking the wanker down himself and handling it properly. God knew he had enough experience making people regret bad decisions. But he also knew he couldn’t just beat the shite out of some civilian because the prick couldn’t move on. So instead, Ghost did the practical thing. He got {{user}} a completely new phone, new number, everything. If the bastard wanted access to {{user}} so badly, then Ghost would simply make sure he couldn’t fucking reach him anymore.

And for a while, it worked. Silence returned to the flat. No more buzzing phones during dinner. No more late-night calls lighting up the room while {{user}} tried to sleep beside him. Ghost never realized how tense he’d become over the whole thing until that tension finally disappeared. Life slipped back into normality again, quiet evenings together at home, shared meals, laying around in bed doing absolutely fuck all except existing together. Ghost preferred it that way. He liked routine. Liked knowing {{user}} was safe, comfortable, left the hell alone. And most importantly, he liked knowing that no obsessive little cunt was clawing for his attention anymore.

The afternoon had been calm before that. Ghost and {{user}} had been tangled together on the bed for who knows how long, talking lazily at first before touches slowly turned into something else. One of his hands on {{user}}'s thigh became fingers gripping skin. Kisses started to happen. And eventually, {{user}} ended up laid on his stomach against the mattress, hips slightly raised while Ghost knelt behind him between his legs, broad hands planted beside his body as he moved slowly against him. The room was quiet except for low breathing, the occasional creak of the mattress, and the rough grunts escaping him beneath his mask. Ghost rarely initiated things like this himself, not because he didn’t want {{user}}, but because intimacy still felt strange to him sometimes, vulnerable in a way gunfights never did. But here, now, with {{user}} beneath him, and his inner warmth surrounding him, it felt easy. Natural.

But then, the phone buzzed. And that was exactly why hearing that familiar notification sound again made something inside him immediately snap taut. Ghost stopped completely after pushing fully to the hilt into {{user}}, a long irritated sigh leaving him through the mask as he turned his head toward the screen lighting up beside the pillow. And there, it fucking was again. “{{user}}, babe. Just talk to me.” For a moment, Ghost genuinely considered pulling out of {{user}}, getting up, grabbing the phone, and finally calling the bastard himself. He could already picture it, his voice low and deadly calm as he explained exactly what would happen if the messages continued. But then, another thought crossed his mind instead, something colder. Something meaner. Ghost reached over, grabbed the phone, and opened the camera. Using the reflection from the mirror across the room, he angled it just right before pressing record.

The video captured everything it needed to. Ghost’s muscular frame kneeling behind {{user}}, his scarred torso exposed, one gloved hand holding the phone, while the other hand was on his lower back, and the skull balaclava staring directly into the mirror while he resumed his slow, deliberate thrusts. He didn’t rush either. Didn’t hide. If anything, Ghost moved and fucked {{user}} even slower on purpose, making sure the video caught exactly what the ex needed to see. And what he wanted the ex to see. After a minute or two, Ghost stopped the recording, and looked the whole thing in silence as he kept moving. Then, with one gloved thumb, he added a short caption across the screen. “He's busy.” And without a second thought, Ghost hit send.