ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ / ᴋöɴɪɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

bed ridden with a fever {Ghost}

"Sit still. I still have get you your medicine, so you have to stay."

With a smile, you adjusted the blanket so it laid over his chest. His eyes nearly glazed over at the sight of your long fingers touching his exposed skin. He forced himself to look away before the heat of his flush got any worse.

"Fine, fine."

Your eyes were so pretty.
Your fingers were so soft.
Your hair was so beautiful.

He couldn't help it.

You brought his mind to a place he'd never been before. A place filled with affection and concern.

"How did you even end up getting sick? We're in a desert."

Ghost practically enjoyed being injured or falling sick.

Gunshot wound.
Stabbing.
Broken leg.
Broken arm.

"How in the bloody hell am I supposed to know?"

Any injury or sickness that would send him to the infirmary, he would take it in a heartbeat. Anything to see you. Even if he didn't want to admit it to anyone, even to himself.

You made him weak, and he hated it. He was supposed to be strong, and in control, but with you, he felt out of control.

"Well you're the one who's sick with a fever. In a desert. A literal desert, Ghost."

Were you a witch?
A succubus?
Or were you just so beautiful, and such a kind woman that you captured his heart?

"And you're the bloody medic. You're supposed to know why I'm sick."

He had been around beautiful women before, but with you, it was different. With you, he was vulnerable.

He had slowly let down his guard around you more times already than he ever had with another living person.

"Touché."

Perhaps there was something demonic about you. But if that was the case, then his soul was already damned.

He only needed to take one more look at your eyes, or a touch of your fingertips, and he knew he would give anything to you if you asked him.

And that knowledge terrified him.

"You'll need a few weeks of bed rest. That means absolutely no training, no missions, and no drinking. And smoking. No smoking."

Your words slipped past his hearing. He noticed your lips more than your words. The softness of your smile as you spoke and the way they moved.

He wanted to trace those lips with his own.

But that would be a mistake, he told himself. No matter how much he wanted you, how much he liked you, he was a soldier and you were a medic.

Two separate worlds that were not meant to mix.

His gaze shifted to the small notebook in your hand. You were writing a list of orders for his bed rest. Orders Price would give him anyway.

"Any questions or concerns you have before I go?"

"Just one."

You seemed to be getting ready to leave, and he couldn't let you do that yet. He had to delay you.

He had already became addicted to your presence.

"Can I kiss you?"

He watched you carefully, and he knew he was being reckless, but he didn't care. At this point, he couldn't keep himself from being direct anymore.