#cod mwii x reader
Text
Great Timing
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! Reader
Cw: minor violence, profanity, bodily harm, attempted assault, blood, whump, creepy dude
Summary: Reader gets off work late and encounters a man who follows her home with malicious intent until your neighbor comes home early from deployment.
A/N: THIS IS MY FIRST GHOST FIC DONT JUDGE ME 🔫🔫🔫
You sighed in exhaustion as you walk out the doors of your work, instering the key into the lock securing the place, you head straight to your car. It was another nightly overtime stay at work, this has been going on for four days now but luckily your boss gave you a few days off as a token of appreciation which made you just as eager to get home and into the comfort of your bed.
Reaching your apartment complex you mind began to grow fuzzy and blurred with sleep slowly taking place. You got out of the car and began heading to the door entrance of the complex, completely unaware of the lingering figure hiding in the distance eyeing you like prey. You unlocked the complex entrance, using the key card the owner provided you with, you walk in entering the lobby, completely oblivious the figure that slipped through the door before it could close and lock, while you make your way to the elevator.
Pressing the button to the elevator, the doors soon opened as you stepped in, your eyelids so droopy that you almost missed the number ‘4’ button to your floor number. You take your your phone out and examine the screen as it turns on as the doors began to close, ‘3:26,’ you read on your Lock Screen before unlocking the device. You got out earlier than you usually did, these past few nights you wouldn’t leave work till nearly five in the morning.
A dull thud spooked you out of your thoughts, shedding the drowsiness you had felt earlier, your head snapped up at the elevator doors to see a hand between the metal opening forcing the doors to open back up revealing a man in his late 40’s. You didn’t want to assume but the man seemed to be homeless with how dirty and ragged his clothing were, he also had the stench of alcohol lingering off him. You knew some thing was wrong the minute you laid eyes on him, making eye contact you was the way he eyed you, like some piece of meat. Your stomach churned in discomfort and a need to run.
He loomed over you which made you feel even more uncomfortable. You wondered where he even came from since the lobby seemed completely empty, especially since it was 3 in the morning, until a thought occurred. Could he have snuck when you opened the door, you questioned in your mind causing you to tense up, the thought alone seemed to trigger your fight or flight response a little as the need to sleep was shoved into the back of your mind. That was the least of your worries.
You didn’t want to show your panic so you gave him a quick weary smile chucking awkwardly. “Oh, sorry I didn’t see you coming…” you muttered as you curled in on yourself, the man said nothing for the next couple of seconds and just stood there eyeing your figure up and down making you inwardly wince in disgust.
After what felt like minuets he finally moved into the elevator, you shimmied to the very back corner as he stepped in and leaned up against the back wall a little too close for your liking. You scooted over the the side wall of the elevator nearing the controls and doors, as they finally closed. You tried to ignore his staring as you turned to look at the elevators controls. “Uhh… which floor are you going to?” You look at his trying to seem calm to the best of your ability but you already knew you were failing.
He gave a quick glance at the controls before looking back at you causing you to look at his feet. “Four.” He said in a raspy voice, you hummed as you looked back to stare at the floor. The voice in the back of your head was beginning to scream louder to make a run for it but you had no idea what you could do. You’re sure everyone was asleep and definitely wouldn’t answer the door at this hour of the night, but you also couldn’t risk him finding out where exactly you lived. If you tried to make a run back to your car and he followed you’d not only make it obvious but it’d also be dangerous.
A plan came to mind, it was your best chance, “oh looks like I already pressed your floor on accident,” you laugh nervously pressing the third floor button as a way to get closer to the lobby.
He seemed displeased as he responded with a small, “oh.” The digits on the small screen above the doors showed each floor going up. You needed to take the stair cases since the elevator was no good, hopefully he isn’t ballsy enough to follow you as you get off.
The ding of the elevator chimed as you reached the third floor, you’re quick to walk off hearing the doors begin to close, sigh in relief but your breath stills as you hear another set of feet softly pad behind you. You glance over your shoulder and all senses in your body go on high alert. He’s trailing behind and smiling in a way that send a chill up your spine. The voice in your head screams so loud you can no longer ignore it, “RUN!” You wasted no time and began to dash for the stairs. The man chuckles following in pursuit.
He grasps your shirt and yanks you back giving you whiplash as you make harsh contact with the floor. You grunt as you try to get up but your arms are soon pinned and a weight is forced upon you. The man is on top of you as he laughs. “Relax honey I just wanna have fun.” He chuckles, you’re legs thrash around not being pinned causing your knee to make hard contact with his groin causing to shout in pain, his grip looses and you take the chance to kick him off you, he goes back and is flown to the wall, a loud thud coming for it. You quickly rise to your feet and run for the stairs, you contemplate for running up stairs to your floor or to the lobby but decided for the lobby. You defend down one flight before you hear the door slam open, you knew it was the man so your begin to skip a couple of steps to decedent down the stairs faster. “Come back you bitch!” He shouts out.
Relief comes once you reach the end of the stairs and see the lobby door. You swing it open not bothering to close it as you ran across to the entrance, the man quick and hot on your tail you fear you might not even make it to your car. You snag your car keys from your pocket and walk right out the door and make a b-line to your car, parked a few feet away.
The man soon come out the door and looks around to before his eyes land on you, your car not to far from you. Both of your were too focused on one thing, you both failed to notice certain tall bulking figure dress in all black with a black balaclava.
Simon had just barely arrived home, his deployment was expected to take longer but due to the his great performance along with the 141 they were able to go home a week early. He had just gotten out of his truck and heading to the back to grab his duffel bag when he was suddenly alerted by the sudden occurrence, the complexes front door swinging open by you as you ran out, you seemed to run with urgency and by the look on your face it was something bad and it seemed to have terrified you, but from what? His question was answered when the door was slammed open again and out came a man in his late 30’s or 40’s, he clearly was a homeless guy and possibly a drug addict, he stopped look around, he completely overlooked Simon, probably due to his dark clothing the the parking lot poorly lit, the guy scanned the area searching for something until his sight was set on you and wasted no time in following you in pursuit.
This set alarms off for Simon, the man was obvious chasing you with malicious intent, he quickly began to run after you two, he reached down to his upper thigh toward his handgun that was strapped to his thigh, he gripped the weapon and pulled it out of its holster. Simons mind screaming at him to get the guy and protect you before he could lay a finger on you.
You were only a couple of feet away until the man lunged and tackled you to the solid rough ground. Pain eachted though you as some areas of your bare skin scrapped against to ground, your pants ripping and exposing your skin and scaling it as well. Blood beginning to seep out from the wounds. “Get off!” You screamed out, you body pinned down, your legs pinned by his, you wrists helps down with one hand and hair violently pulled with his other hand causing you to cry out.
Before the man could speak he was suddenly jerked off you. In a flash he was on the ground, Simon pinning him to the floor. The man tried to shout until a cold metal was shoved into his mouth, which he soon found out was Simons gun. “You fucking bastard.” Was all Simon shouted before he pulled the gun away and angled the butt of the gun to the man and swung it down to his face over and over.
You had turned on back to see a hooded man in all black on top of the homeless guy and beating the shit out of him with something I his hand but you couldn’t tell with how fast he kept swinging his arm. You watched in shock hearing the homeless guy cry out begging for mercy and even apologizing which unknowingly made you smile and feel a little better. After a few good hits the hooded man stopped, which gave you the chance to look at what was in his hand, it was gun. Was this your neighbor, you wondered, you’ve seen him around once in awhile and only really greeted each other, you converse aged rarely but one time he told you his name was Ghost, which you found odd but didn’t really mind, you knew he worked in the military with him gear and uniform especially with his cargo pants that had his gun strapped to his thigh, seeming the strap you just thought of confined that this guy definitely was your neighbor.
The homeless man lied on the ground limply, groaning and slight cries of pain coming from his now bloodied face, you had a feeling his had a few facial fractures, you swore you heard a few bones cracking from him every time Ghost made contact with his face. You wiped away some tears you didn’t know you had as Ghost loomed over the guy, breathing heavily, your sniffing was what broke him from his trance as he glanced over his shoulder to look at you. He was able to get a good look at you to realize you were his neighbor too, he let out a few breathes of relief too see only a few scratches on you.
“You alright yn?” He asked, his voice deep and out of breath.
You let out a shaken breath you didn’t know you were holding as you nodded. “Thank god you were here.” You whispered staring at the homeless guy who knocked out a few second ago. Ghost really did a number on him, you thought examining his bloodied face, his nose looked broken and bent.
Simon sighed agreeing with you. “You’re lucky I just barely arrived, had I arrived later or earlier…” he pauses, the possibilities that the man could’ve done to you spooked him more than he’d like to admit.
Simon didn’t finish his sentence and opted to staying silent a long with you, you sat on the ground catching your breathes until Simon moved to place his gun back in his holster with the butt still bloodied along with his hand. He rises to his feet walking over to you and held out his gloved one. You grasp it, it felt warm even through the material of the glove, he grasps your hand softy but secured enough to help you up as he lifts you up to your feet like nothing.
He called the cops so you two waited with Simon standing by the man watching him like a hawk ready to ounce at the slightest movement. He tried his best to distract you with some conversations, when the police finally arrived, they had an ambulance to come and take the man, they got your information and asked for details of what happened, they soon wrapped everything up and took off.
“Cmon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He says leading you back inside the apartment. You completely forgot about your injuries till Ghost mentioned them. You almost told him that you could take care of yourself but ultimately decided to just let it happen. It was silence on the way up, the elevator was a little awkward but once you two finally arrived on your floor Simon finally broke the silence. “I have a first aid kit in my place if your ok with that?” You nodded the adrenaline finally subsiding and the aches and stings start coming through.
Simon noticed a slight limp in your walk, some blood soaking around your injures, and some blood still seeping on the injuries from your bottom lip and forehead. As if you could read his mind you spoke before he could voice his concern. “I’m fine I just feel a little sore is all, maybe I pulled my leg but it’s fine.” You mumbled seeing your door and Simons door in view turning into the hall.
Stopping at his door he pulls out his keys, unlocking the door to his flay you follow him in as he stands to the side allowing you to walk in before closing the door behind you. “Make your self comfortable on the couch I’ll be back with the kit. With some aspirin and water. ” He says turning on the light to reveal the living space as he walks down the hall.
You plop yourself on the couch with a sigh until a wave of pain crashed through you, a groan left your lips, you leg burned as you look down at it. You soon realized the blood beginning to seep through the fabric of your clothes leaving a tiny blotch of a deep crimson. Carefully lifting up the fabric of your pants the wound fully came into view. It was ugly, your leg was dripping a lot of blood for such a minor injury which worried you fearing you could possibly need stitches.
“You didn’t tell me you were bleeding.” Simon spoke, the sudden noise of his deep voice spooked you not even hearing his footsteps and seeing him walk over to the side of the couch.
“Jesus Simon, you’re like a damn ninja creeping around so quiet.” you mutter, rolling up the material. Simon kneeled in front of you placing the kit on the coffee table. Opening the box, he fished out a gauze pad, alcohol pads, and bandages. He took his gloves off revealing his bare hands, you watched his movements but even the feeling of his warm skin against your leg startled you.
Simon ignored your comment as he remained silent, you worried you might've soured his mood especially since he practically saved your life and brought you inside his house to take the time to attend to your wounds but you’re thoughts were cut short when he handed you the bottle of aspirin and water.
“Thanks.” You muttered taking the bottles, taking out two pills you drop them into your mouth before opening the water bottle. You take a swig before swapping the liquid and pills. Ghost prepped the stuff as you did so waiting for you to finish.
"Brace yourself," he spoken breaking the silence and your thoughts. Before you could process what was happening, Simon brought the alcohol-soaked gauze pad to your wound. you hissed in pain, the hot searing pain outnumbered out the cold wetness of the pad. your leg was kept still by Simon's hand gripping your calf to be still, you were were too busy with the pain to think much about how impressively strong his grip on your leg was.
As Simon was close to finishing up, you kept your eyes on him, you didn’t want to stare and seem rude or make Simon uncomfortable but this was the first time you really got to look at what the mask didn’t hide. You took in the little scar of his right cheek that disappeared down into the mask, the hairs on his blond eyelashes that were beautiful and long and what most entranced you were his eyes. They were a beautiful hazel, the color vary based on the different lighting. With the light shining on half of his face one eye shined like a diamond reveal a beautiful honey brown color while his other eye was dark like an abyss.
Unfortunately his eyes were to enticing that you failed to process the movement of his head turning up to you, his eyes boring right back into yours and the movement of his covered mouth, “You gonna keep gawking at me or are you gonna answer my question?” His gruff voice broke you out of your trace as realization hit your mind, you face began to burn as your mind screamed at you in embarrassment.
“Uhhh- I- I… What…. What was the question?” You muttered nervously, avoiding looking at Simon feeling shame from being caught.
“Are you okay to walk or do you need help?” He repeated still kneeling down beside you causing him to look up at you.
You didn’t wanna admit it but your legs couldn’t keep you up anymore. As nice as it would sound to have Simon help you and be up against his body, you saved him the trouble. “I’ll be fine. Thanks again Si.” You thank him before you ‘try’ to pull yourself up to your feet only to pathetically look like an elderly person due to the couch being close to the ground. Your face burned in embarrassment as you plopped back down on the couch and looked at the floor in defeat as Simon still stood there in silence just watching you. “I need help…” you muttered.
You heard Simon snort as he steps to you and sets your arm over his shoulder and slipping his hands beneath your back and knees and lifting you up bridal style. You gasped and wrapped your arms around Simon tightly. “Simon?!” You called out but he didn’t bother and began to walk towards his door.
“Welcome.” Was all he said taking his hand beneath your back to his door knob, twisting the knob and opening the door, not worried about you falling with the death grip you had on him. The trip only took a few steps until Simon reached your front door. Slowly he lowered you down as you eased your grip and stood on your feet. You could feel the cold begin to replaces Simons warmth which made you shiver. “Got your Keys?” He asked, you nod before fishing out your house keys from your pocket.
As you finally unlock the door, you began to limp your way into your home until Simon gently grasped your left arm and swing it over his shoulder lifting most of your weight off your injured leg. You were going to protest but decided against it and savor the help and warmth he provided you.
“Where to?” He asked, silence for a second until you bobbed your head towards the hallway.
“My bedroom, last door at the end of the hall.” You say, making your way towards your door you turn the knob and make your way in. Simon helps you settle onto your bed, sitting at the edge of your mattress. As soon as you got settled Simon began to make his exit muttering an awkward ‘goodnight’ until you spoke. “Simon,” you call out making him stop at your doorway. He turned around and eyes you, “Thank you, really, you saved me. I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done if you hadn’t arrived at the right time. I don’t even know what would’ve happen to me had you not been there…”
That thought seemed to haunt not only you but Simon as well. The mere thought of seeing you in a gruesome way triggered memories he wish he could burn out of his mind. He sighed and walked back up to you, setting a hand on your shoulder, he could see the thought was troubling you the most. “Me too, ‘m glad your not too beat up. And there’s no need to thank me.”
“We’ll I mean you took me to your place and took the time to help deal with this mess so, and in a way I should be thanking you.” You mumbled shifting your legs to examine the bandages.
“‘S fine, jus’ wanted to make sure you’re alright. You should get some rest though, ya look like shite.” He chuckled.
You laughed out an “ass,” before nodding. “Can’t deny that though, I’ll clean up and head to bed then. You get some rest I’m sure you need the extra sleep coming back from deployment and then having to deal with all the fiasco.”
“You sure you should do that?” He asks.
“Yeah, I’m sure, the aspirin should be kicking in here in a few, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Stop worrying and get to sleep.” You joke.
Simon nods gives you a small pat on your back before making his way out of your room. “Alright, I’ll see you around,” he says,
“Good night Simon.” You smile.
Simon grabs your doorknob and began to close the door before looking at you once more you could see his eyes slightly wrinkle, he was smiling. “Good night (y/n).”
~~~~~~~~~
Just as you suspected the aspirin finally kicked in a few minutes after Simon left. You did what you needed to do, shower and avoid getting your bandages wet. After dressing in your sleep wear, you walked to the kitchen for a drink when you noticed a paper on your table. Picking it up you examined the numbers written on there with a note below it.
‘Here’s my number If you contact me, also lock the top lock on your door. -Simon’
You smiled at the note before taking your drink, setting the cup down with the note still in hand you make your way to your front door seeing the bottom lock already locked, you lock the top one before heading back to your room.
You sit on your bed and grab your phone before putting in Simons number into your contacts.
You: Got your note. top is locked, thanks 👍🏼
It didn’t take long till you got a text back.
Simon💀: No problem, stay safe and be more aware of your surroundings love, I won’t always be around to save your arse.
You laughed trying to ignore the nickname as you finally settle into your covers.
You: Yes Sir 👍🏼
Simon💀: Good girl.
#simon riley x reader#simon x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#mw2 ghost x reader#mw2 x reader#cod mw2 x reader#cod mwii x reader#cod x reader
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⇝ refuge .
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.
PART FOUR OF MÉNAGE.
SUMMARY: After a mission goes wrong, the 141 seek shelter in Ghost's so-called "safe house".
WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, blood, wounds, stitching of wounds, mentions of abuse, first fluff in a while.
A/N: My fingers hurt I'm actually going to pass out now goodbye <3 (PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT HELPS A LOT!!!)
WORD COUNT: 11.2k.
MASTERLIST.
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Also on Ao3!
Ghost’s hands were covered in blood.
Although this was nothing out of the ordinary for a trained soldier like him, as he’d washed away many gallons of blood off of him in the time where he’d been on the field, this was different.
It wasn’t the enemy’s blood that covered him, no. It wasn’t even his soldiers’ blood.
It was civilian's. People that had been going about their day. Casualties in the mess that had erupted with a single missed bullet.
It was his fault.
If he hadn’t let himself grow distracted with the banter that erupted from his ear piece, if he had paid more attention to the target Laswell had given him, he would’ve been able to game end them right there and then like he had many before, instead, the bullet lodged right in his chest above the heart, enough time to stun the man but not enough to stop his other hand from clicking the detonator.
The chaos that had followed was indescribable. He could still feel his ears ringing from the explosion that had occurred, the screams of the people he could have saved, the panicked shouts and roars from Price as he ordered them about.
Ghost followed the order mindlessly, his body on some type of autopilot that had been turned on after the shock, taking out the other targets that had been lingering around until the bomb had gone off, his emotion-fueled mind taking out it’s anger on them by tearing them apart in the most gruesome ways possible.
But he knew that covering himself in as much enemy blood as he could wouldn’t wash away the innocent’s.
It wouldn’t wipe away the countless deaths he’d caused.
But as he watched his final victim bleed out on the ground, ignoring their screams of pain and the insults that were being hurled at, Soap’s voice came through his earpiece.
“Bastard’s gone. Cannae find him anywhere.”
Ghost’s blood boiled, combat boot slamming down onto the man’s head to finally shut him up, a last act of mercy and a way to express the anger rushing through his veins.
Even after they’d retreated back to the base they’d made theirs in the outskirts of Berlin during their mission there, Ghost couldn’t shake his disgusting feelings off his shoulders.
He’d never been the one to cause such a massacre like this. It was always some rookie or other, never a seasoned Lieutenant like him.
Soap and Gaz’s conversation was just static to his ears, his mind spiralling as he thought about all the people around the city who had lost a family member today because of him.
It wasn’t the first time in a mission where there’d been casualties. But never as many as this. And never had it affected him like this.
The empathy he’d lacked almost all his life had suddenly made itself known in his mind, the little voice gnawing at the back of his head as it fed him scenarios linked to the mission they’d just failed, impossible if he were to think about them clearly, but right then, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating as fast as it could against his ribcage as he thought about the possibility of you or Tommy being involved in something like that, of having to carry the guilt that would no doubt haunt him all his life if that were to happen.
He fucking hated it.
He’d been deep in thought when they finally arrived at the base, the humvie’s doors opening as the other three stepped out, Price the only to take note of Ghost’s dishevelled state.
“Lieutenant.”
…
“Ghost.”
…
“Simon!” Along with the bellow of his real name, the captain’s hand came down to slam onto one of the leather seats, finally pulling Ghost out of his stupor. “We’re here.”
“Copy.” He grunted, pushing himself out of the car and following his captain and the other two back to base mindlessly, almost like a zombie.
It didn’t get better from there. Even as Laswell reassured him that it hadn’t been anyone's fault, that they hadn’t planned on the man wearing a gun vest, that even if he had succeeded in shooting him down, he wouldn’t be the only one with a detonator as found in one of the man’s lackey’s front pocket, that the explosion would have happened either way… He couldn’t help but still feel horrible.
“Any idea where he is, then?” Price asked, looking through some of the files they’d been given on their runaway.
“Probably went back home.” Gaz suggested, pointing out the address for a flat he had somewhere in the outskirts of Manchester.
“Called the airport, they told us a man with similar build and looks boarded a plane for Liverpool over two hours ago. He’s probably already out of the airport.”
Soap clicked his tongue, looking down at the address Gaz had mentioned before. “That’s his maw’s flat. Reckon he’d put ‘er in danger?”
“Doubt he’d care. He was happy to kill countless people for his cause, including his men and himself, what’s one more?” Ghost grunted, throwing the file down and leaning back in his chair, sharp gaze focused on the digital map Laswell had brought up, looking at the location of the terrorist’s house.
“It’s not near any major buildings and isn’t close enough to the city to cause a commotion.” Laswell noted as she looked over the hills and lakes that surrounded the small house. “Good hiding place.”
“And if he’s not there?” Gaz asked, handing all the files back to Laswell, who gave him a solemn look.
“We keep trying. Go get ready, I’ll call for a heli to take you all back to England. Try and get him, preferably alive, but be wary of any more guards or lackeys he might have brought with him. You’re all dismissed.”
Everyone was armed to their teeth by the time they’d made it back to English territory, night vision goggles pulled above their head as they had realised the trip took a bit longer than expected due to the cargo they had been asked to bring back to England in the process, the sky darkening even further with every second they spent on the helicopter.
“Ghost, how copy?” Price shouted over the sound, elbowing Ghost in the side when he didn’t seem to hear him.
“What?!” Ghost shouted back, forcing out the pressure that clogged up his ears in order to hear properly.
“How are you?! Never seen you this melancholic!”
Ghost huffed out a laugh, tightening the straps of the seatbelts around his chest, as if they were the one putting pressure on his lungs.
“Fine, captain!” He snapped, turning to look out of the small window row behind them. “Just ready to kill this fucking bugger!”
“Copy that!” Price slammed one of his burly hands onto Ghost’s shoulder, an act of encouragement the captain found himself giving to each of his members every time they went on a mission.
After that, the helicopter went quiet, focusing on the mission ahead of them.
Which in foresight, was expected to be relatively easy, a copy of many before them where they’d all come out victorious.
But this one differed.
The target wasn’t even that dangerous in itself, he was just some bloke who had had the brilliant idea to make an organisation that had somehow ended up planting bombs in almost every major city under the government and army’s radar. It hadn’t been up to now where they had finally learned who was behind it and where their next target was, but even then, they’d failed in protecting the civilians.
Something they had spent almost a year investigating, fighting, taking down so many factions across the world to get to the top of the pyramid, the man behind it all.
And fuck, if Ghost wasn’t going to make all the time he’d spent stressed and infuriated out of his mind on a wild goose chase for this fucking guy worth it. If he’d never fucking existed, the task force wouldn’t have gone through all that just to lose him, he wouldn’t have ruined the relationship he’d began with you, he would’ve had a proper go at being Tommy’s dad from the get-go.
But a group of people that had afforded to build and plant so many bombs across so many countries, were to have enough money to hire bodyguards en par with the skill the 141 had.
And that’s just what they had.
Just like them, they were well-equipped with as many guns and weapons that the group’s money could buy, and while normally most men like these were just random guys picked off the street who had had guns shoved into their hands, these weren’t. They were trained, skilled enough to almost knock Soap’s gun out of his hands, and although that wasn’t what had happened, it had given them enough time for one of their bullets to graze his leg, not enough to fully bury itself into the flesh but enough to make him bleed and buckle to the ground.
Ghost grabbed Soap by the scruff of his jacket, quickly disposing of the man that had shot him and pulling him up, letting the scot lean on him for balance.
“Captain, Soap’s been hit!” Ghost roared into his radio, letting Soap lean on the wall while he grabbed some bandages they were always advised to bring and helped Soap in stopping the bleeding that the graze had caused. “Can you walk, Johnny?”
“Feckin’ adrenaline’s runnin’ through me, LT., could carry a horse if ye told me to.”
“Atta boy.” He handed him his gun so he could defend himself while they got out of the top floor. “Sir, the first floor’s clear. Taking the sergeant back to the car.”
“Roger. Be careful, fucker’s nowhere to be found down h- Fuck, Gaz!”
The sound of a gun going off and the roar from their captain made both men freeze in place, the dying grunts of someone coming through the radio before Gaz finally spoke, voice wheezy and hurt.
“‘M fine, just- Fuck, that cunt stabbed me!”
They made their way to the bottom of the stairs, where unfortunately, one of the men was waiting for them, stabbing their tactile knife right into Ghost’s shoulder thanks to the fact that he’d switched off his night vision goggles moments before, and wouldn't have seen them in the dark.
“Fuck, where do they keep comin’ from!?”
“Captain!”
“I see ya! Ghost, Soap, meet us outside, there’s not enough of us to take these fuckers out!” Price commanded, all of them responding with a “Roger!” before barreling their way out of the house, shooting a few more men in the process until they both shoved themselves into the car, Ghost immediately grabbing at the keys and pushing them in, getting everything ready while they waited for the other two, that quickly retreated into the back and slammed the doors shut, the captain slamming his fist into the back of GHost’s seat and ordering him to drive.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Gaz cried out as he held onto his wound, planting his feet on the floor as he realised who was driving, both him and soap squeezing their eyes shut as the blond slammed onto the accelerator, bringing the car out of the rocky driveway of the house and back out into one of the main roads.
As the adrenaline started to fade from all of them, Price lazily raised a hand to grab at Soap’s shoulder, looking down at the bullet wound. “Still in one piece?”
“Yeah… Don’ think Lt. can say the same.” He pointed over to the stab wound in Ghost’s shoulder, that luckily had been right over his tactical gear, so it hadn’t caused as much damage as the perpetrator clearly intended.
“‘M fine, Johnny. Worry about yourself.” He grunted, trying to ignore the pain that came with taking a turn with the steering wheel, every single time he moved his arm striking pain into the wound, the adrenaline from before having done a good job at keeping him from realising the amount of pain he had been currently in.
“What about you, Gaz?” Soap called out, turning his head to look at the other as Price got his radio out, planning on informing Laswell on the second failure of the day.
“Not dead.” He joked, tightening the bandage around the cut on his arm. “Gonna need stitches or something.”
Everyone went silent as Laswel’s voice came through the radio, broken and incomplete, but they could slightly understand what she was saying.
Of course, the terrorists had also managed to hack into their servers while the task force was on their way and had made preparations for when they had inevitably barged into their house to arrest the man.
The base back in London was almost a four hour drive away, and they doubted that their wounds would be in perfect condition after that long of a time, they needed to be disinfected and treated as soon as possible.
“Any safe houses ‘round here that we might have access to?” Price called out, listening to what he assumed was Laswell looking through files.
“None that they don’t have access to.”
“Hospital?”
“Too far.”
All of them collectively sweared, Ghost’s grip tightening around the wheel as he took a right into one of the roads leading towards Manchester, the same road he took every time he came back from base to see you.
You…
“Don’t you live in Manchester?” Gaz called out, kicking Ghost’s seat like a kid asking if they were there yet.
“Not safe. If they have the locations of our safe houses, they have the locations of our own.” Price called out. “Unless one of you has a secret house off the grid or some James Bond mansion.”
Silence filled the car.
Now, it had passed through Ghost’s head when they first started talking about safe houses, but it wasn’t really his house, after all. It was yours, Your space, your flat, your building. Not his. He was nothing but some sort of weird tennant.
And his flat would have been the first place to take them to if it hadn’t been compromised, but now that he knew that that idea was out of the picture, he couldn’t help but continue thinking about your flat. With the safety kit he’d given you once after Tommy had gotten a scratch; with the pullout sofa he used every time he was over; with all the warmth and comfort he wished for every time he finished a mission.
And he knew it wasn’t fair on you, it was extremely late compared to the times he came back in the night, you were probably fast asleep curled in your bed like you always where when he checked up on you; and it wasn’t fair to suddenly just shove three more men into your personal space, but as he took another turn and his shoulder throbbed, as he heard Gaz hiss whenever the car bumped a little, as he watched Soap try his best to stop the bleeding occurring from his wound, he knew that the worries Simon had couldn’t overcome the panic and danger Ghost was in. This was an emergency.
“Know somewhere, sir.” Ghost spoke out, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been keeping the secret deep inside of him for longer than a minute. “Safe house, I mean.”
“You’re certain it’s safe?” Price questioned, Laswell going silent on the other side of the radio as well.
“Positive.”
That’s how he found himself copying the exact route he always took to your place, passing the same pubs, the same shops, the same flats… Up until he parked a few blocks away from yours like he always made sure he did.
“This it?” Gaz asked concerned as he gazed upon a closed Greggs, Ghost letting out a huff of amusement.
“No, a bit further up.”
Since Ghost and Price were the only ones who were able to walk without limping, they took it upon themselves to be the ones to help the other two reach the building, Ghost’s hand inexplicably shaky as he stuck the key in like he’d done over a dozen times before, shoving them all into the elevator.
“Quiet.” He hissed to them as Gaz let out a small pained cry, not wanting to wake up the ever-so irritable neighbours or cause you any alarm if you were still awake.
He felt bad as he slotted the second key into the door, thinking about how scared you could be if you heard him coming, pushing it open with his healthy arm and letting it creek open. “Don’t open any doors. Find a place to sit. Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t interact with anything.”
The three nodded at his warning, Gaz and Soap slumping onto the sofa as soon as they could and Price taking a seat at the island as Ghost slowly closed the door and turned on the light, dimming it down so it wouldn’t alert you nor Tommy.
As Gaz and Soap whispered between themselves, wondering how the hell Ghost kept a house in such a tidy and pretty state (“Reminds me of my maw’s.” Soap had commented, making Gaz nod and laugh.), Simon pushed open Tommy’s door, listening in to the telltale sound of his son’s breaths to make sure that he was okay, turning around to find Price looking at a small stuffed animal sitting on the counter along with a dummy, his eyes wide in realisation as he turned to his lieutenant.
“Simon-”
“Yeah.” He brushed past, tapping on the back of Soap’s head to catch his attention. “Up, I’ll deal with you first.”
“Oh, I’m honoured!” He said in a faux-british accent, lifting himself off the sofa with his help and leaning against one of the walls Simon had placed him against.
“You’ve got a really nice gaf, didn’ expect this from ya.” Gaz commented as Ghost looked through some of the drawers around your flat, trying to remember where the hell he’d seen you put the medkit last.
“Yeah, you're a classy one aren’t ya, Lt.? Place’s better than mine, I mean, have ya seen your sofa?” He chuckled, signalling towards the plush pillows Gaz was leaning against now, the cute crocheted blanket hanging on the back.
Ghost ignored all of their remarks, slamming one of the drawers shut and pulling himself up, nodding towards your bedroom door. “Shut up. I’m going to check the bathroom. Not a word.”
Soap seemingly assumed that the door Ghost had gestured towards was the direct entrance into the bathroom, so in order to help his lieutenant out a bit, his hand moved towards the doorknob while Ghost started pulling off his combat boots, not wanting to make a sound when he went into your room.
But, apparently, the small sounds they’d been making should have been his main priority, by the way you were almost waiting at your bedroom door with a gun raised to Soap’s forehead, ready to shoot just like he’d taught you in a situation like this one.
“Steamin’ fuckin’-”
Ghost couldn’t rid himself of his boots fast enough before Soap’s hand was instinctively around your neck, the adrenaline that was rushing through both of your veins making it easier for him to ignore the pain shooting through his leg to defend himself and for yourself to scratch and pull at the hand around your throat.
“Soap!” Price shouted as he pushed himself off his seat, noting the panic that had filled Ghost’s normally stoic eyes at the mere sight of you in pain, slowly putting two and two together.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Ghost roared, abandoning his shoes as soon as he saw your eyes roll back into your skull, a telltale sign that you were about to pass out due to the scot’s strong grip on your neck, while normally it would’ve taken way longer for someone to pass out.
The sight of your legs going limp in Soap's grasp was enough for Ghost to see red, moving like he did on the battlefield to reach Soap, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him onto the ground like a ragdoll, secretly hoping the grip he’d grabbed him with was strong enough to cause him the same pain you were undoubtedly in, arms immediately rushing towards your flailing body and pulling you into his chest, one of his gloved hands holding the back of your head as the other pulled your shaking legs up.
He didn’t really care that he might’ve seriously hurt Soap, gaze and attention fixed on the tears running down your cheeks and the paleness to your normally warm skin, the wheezing breath leaving you as your body tried its best to regain the breath Soap had just stolen from you, your hands clinging to his tact gear instinctively as you coughed with every attempt to breathe.
Once he made sure you were definitely still awake and breathing, he brought you closer to him, the hold on you similar to some desperate attempt at the bridal style, almost like a mutt protecting its territory.
“What the fuck, were you thinking, Saergant!?” He shouted, glaring down at the man, who was rubbing at his neck looking up at you both in confusion.
“Well, I’m sorry for protectin’ myself against someone who was armed, Lt.!” He shouted back, being helped back up by his captain, who seemed torn between who was in the right and who was in the wrong.
“Did you even stop to think-”
“Oh, because you feckin’ warned me about the armed woman who’d be waitin’ for us!” Soap interrupted, coughing out.
Ghost clenched his jaw, turning to make eye contact with Price, who just shook his head at him, imploring him to just let go.
“We’re all stressed. It slipped Ghost’s mind to tell us about her and you shouldn’t've had reacted like that. You’re both in the wrong.”
Neither of them spoke, knowing that the Captain, as always, was right.
“Go take care of her.”
He didn’t have to tell Ghost twice. He and Soap shared one final glance, one that only they knew what meant, full of words neither of them would dare to share out loud, but they understood.
The gun luckily hadn’t gone off during the whole kerfuffle, letting Ghost lean down and pick it up carefully, clicking on the safety before sliding it into one the spare holsters, not trusting himself enough to carry a loaded gun while you were still in his arms.
He pushed the door open, your coughs continuing as your eyes started fluttering open, trying to drive away the flurry of tears that were still streaming down your cheeks and wetting your clothes, a broken croak of his name leaving you.
“It’s me, don’t worry. Just me, love. Just me.” He reassured you the whole way back to the bed, propping you up onto the soft mattress and letting you fall back, kneeling onto the carpeted floor and letting his head rest against the sweet-smelling covers, lifting his head as one of your hands pawed at his mask.
He tried ignoring you for a few moments as he took the gun back out and expelled the mag, squeezing his eyes shut as another one of your sobs reached his ears, shoving the gun and mag back into the drawer it had been in before finally turning to look at you properly.
“Simon…” You managed to get out, cringing at the sound of your voice, still slightly delirious from the lack of air in your brain. “What… It- It hurts…”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered, grabbing at your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Just breathe f’me. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”
He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point, just reacting to every single thing he usually told himself when he was in the midst of a panic attack ever since he was young.
“Who…”
Your eyes darted over to the door, where both of you could still hear the other talk, flinching as one of them spoke a bit too loud.
“They’re with me. Soap, he was the one to… I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before coming, we were in the middle of a mission and-”
“Oh my god, Simon!” You cried out, startling the both of you. You propped yourself up, shaking a bit due to the dizziness but grabbing onto his non-wounded shoulder all the same. “You’re bleeding!”
In the midst of everything that had just happened, he seemed to have forgotten the stab wound, his free hand coming up to touch at the now drying blood with a hiss.
“It’s fine. Listen, you-”
“No! It’s not fine, oh my god!” You felt a bit queasy as you noticed the blood that also stained his hands and tact vest, hoping to god that it was his even though deep down you knew that it wasn’t. “What- How are you so okay with this!?”
He grabbed both of your hands before they reached to grab at his wounded shoulder, staring deep into your foggy eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”
Don’t worry about him?
He was fucking freebleeding in the middle of your bedroom like it was a goddamn hobby! How could you not worry about him!?
“I’m fine. How’s your throat?” He let go of one of your hands to bring it up to your neck, fingers softly grazing against a few darkening spots adorning your skin, reminders of what had happened before.
“It… It still hurts to speak. Kind of.” You closed your eyes as the tough material of his gloves brushed against you so gently, surprised that such items that had been used to rip countless people apart were capable of a touch so sweet, so soft, so caring…
You swallowed, the movement of your throat beneath his hand quickly alerting himself of what he was currently touching, holding, and making him let go, going back to search for your other abandoned hand, making it easier for him by raising it and meeting his halfway.
“I’m sorry. For not telling you we were coming.” The apology seemed to slip from his lips oh so easily, compared to when you’d first let him in to explain himself, when he’d clearly physically struggled to speak those two damned words…
“‘We’?” You repeated, feeling his hands tighten around yours.
“Soap’s not the only one. Price and Gaz are also here.” He explained, his eyes motioning towards the door. “We were compromised, in a way. Needed somewhere to go, and I just…”
You looked away, already knowing the ending of the short recap of the night, looking down at your linked hands, gaze darting back up to the blood staining his arm.
“It’s… Fine.”
It really wasn't. You knew you had every right to be angry with him and the three other men he’d brought along, this was your flat! Your home, your building, your living room they had no doubt made their own in the small time you’d been in the bedroom with Simon, and without even thinking about the bruises forming at the base of your neck you already had enough reasons to let your anger boil over.
But you stayed silent as he waited for you to snap, to scream at him, to add even more salt in the wound that had formed both mentally and physically tonight; silent as he took your hands and helped you climb out of bed and cling onto him for balance as you regained the feeling in your legs (that were being invaded by the stabbing feeling of pins and needles); silent as he pushed the door open and walked out with you concealed behind him like some tactical weapon.
You were pleasantly surprised to see that unlike your fears the men had seemingly not touched a single thing in your living room, standing next to the kitchen island despite one of them clearly having problems with standing.
He made eye contact with you, your blood running cold as you realised that he had been the one to cause the soreness that now racked your throat, immediately moving to tear your gaze away from him but stopped as he did it first, looking down at his shoes as if ashamed, and by the way he stayed silent while the other introduced themselves, he was.
The captain was nice enough, he clasped your hand in a firm handshake, one that you assumed he’d been practising for longer than you were alive, and he had a very kind face despite the work you knew the four men did, but you couldn’t help but feel at ease in his presence, an effect you assumed he had on everyone by the way they seemed so lax instead of freaking out over the wounds littering their bodies like you would.
Gaz gave you a smile and a nod, not even attempting to outstretch either of his hands to you due to the tear up his arm and the other hand pressing a bloody piece of cloth to the wound in hopes of keeping himself from losing too much blood.
“Soap.” Ghost’s voice came out low and gruff, a tone of voice you’d never heard from him, and you thanked whatever god was up there that you’d never heard it directed to you, because clearly you weren’t as strong as the Sergeant in front of you and would’ve immediately crumbled into fear.
“I’m sorry.” He immediately spoke out, his accent thick around each word as he outstretched his arm, poised out for a handshake. “I hope I didn’ hurt you t’much.”
Although the burn from his hand was still there, a constant reminder for the rest of the night of what had happened, and though it would take a bit of while for you to let go of it, you still raised your hand up to his, clasping it in a much weaker handshake than his Captain’s, but it was firm nonetheless, confirming your “acceptance” to his apology for now.
“I would have done the same if I had your strength, don’t worry.” You tried lightening up the mood, despite the anxiety that still tugged at your mind, letting go of his hand and going back to standing next to Simon, your arm pressed right against his, hoping that his massive frame would do something to help hide you.
A warm hand came up to your waist, the hairs on your body standing on end as Ghost’s breath hit the shell of your ear. “Go check on Tommy.”
Tommy.
Your stomach dropped at the realisation that you hadn’t even thought about your poor son in the whole time you were awake, too focused on yourself to even think about what fear he could be going through after hearing more than the two voices he was used to in the small apartment, your breath hitching as the hand slowly pushed you towards the nursery door, like you were a dog in need of direction.
“Tommy?” Gaz breathed out as Ghost led him to the kitchen sink, letting the man run his arm under the stream of cold water, washing away any of the crusty blood that stuck to the skin, while Ghost continued his search for the medkit.
The man stayed quiet, not even bothering to even think of beginning to explain Tommy, and by association you and whatever relationship you had, already having had struggled enough when deciding to open up to Price about it, not needing to do it two more times.
“His son.” Price answered for him when he saw that Ghost was making no move to answer, the skull-faced man turning to send a quick glare in his captain’s direction before being shot down with one of the same calibre. “Don’t ask more, though. Bugger still likes keeping his secrets.”
Both Soap and Gaz turned to Ghost with matching expressions, dumbfounded by the information they had just been fed, unbelieving that the man they knew as Ghost, the Ghost that they had watched kill people with a single hand, the Ghost that seemingly felt no emotions towards any of them or anyone, the Ghost they’d worked so hard to even get a sliver of information out of him was indeed a father. An actual father, with a real son who had a mother who lived in a nice and cute-looking flat taking care of said son.
After the confrontation between you and Soap, they had quickly assumed that Ghost harboured some type of feelings towards you, whether they were romantic or platonic was still yet to be known (though by the way he had held you so protectively against his chest, they assumed that they already knew the answer to that small conundrum), but they would’ve never guessed that you were the fucking mother of his son, a son he’d kept pretty well hidden from everyone, except Price, like many of the details of his oh-so mysterious life.
“That’s… Nice.” Gaz croaked out, throat having gone dry by the absolute shock that had filled the two Sergeants, gulping as Ghost stood back up to his full height, suddenly intimidated by the man more than usual.
“Yeah. Stay.” Once again, not even bothering to say it in a nicer way, commanding all of them like dogs before entering the room you’d just retreated to and slamming the door closed.
He immediately regretted it, though, by the way you snapped your head around like the girl from the ring furiously, clutching a fussing Tommy to your chest, reminiscent of the first night he’d spent in your flat.
“Sorry.” He didn’t wait for you to respond, taking a few long strides until he was at your side, gazing down at your sweet boy, who was moving around in your arms like he was actively trying to escape you. “How’s he?”
“Fussy. I mean, he’s been sleeping all day, no surprises there. Probably wants to watch some telly.”
“Can’t really do that lying down now, can he?” A gloved finger came down to tickle his tummy, causing him to move around more as he burst into a fit of giggles, seemingly not caring about his father's sudden change of appearance, hopefully assimilating in his tiny brain that all skull patterns equaled dad.
At his response, you sucked air through your teeth, causing him to snap his head towards you in fear he’d said something wrong, taking a step back as he watched you place your hands underneath Tommy’s armpits and slowly take him to the ground, his little duck printed socks touching the floor and causing Ghost’s eyes to widen, mind racing with thoughts that your son might actually be some type of prodigy if he was standing up at this age, but let out a humoured breath as his little bum hit the floor, and instead of falling back like he always did, he instead stayed there sitting, moving his arms around in order to shake your grip off.
“He’s sitting.”
“You don’t sound very impressed.” You said, looking up at him with a bright smile, not being able to help the immense pride you felt as your son ticked off another milestone off the list, sitting down on the carpet behind him and handing him one of the toys littered on the ground, wanting to enjoy this little moment of peace within the confusing and terrifying night you’d had, trying your best to focus simply on Tommy and not with what would come with having four military trained men in your flat.
“No, it’s… Yeah.” You rolled his eyes at the inexpressive tone his voice took, watching him take a seat in front of you and raise his uninjured arm up to click his fingers in front of Tommy’s chubby face, like you normally did when wanting to catch his attention. “Good job, duck.”
You couldn’t help the way your smile widened as you heard him use the little nickname you’d given him, placing your hands on his chubby tummy and tickling his sides, enticing another few happy giggles.
But through them, you heard the sharp hiss that came from Simon as he moved to put his weight onto the other arm, eyes going wide as you realised you’d completely neglected the wound you’d fussed about so much earlier, one of your hands moving to grasp his hands.
“Why haven’t you treated it yet?” You whispered, keeping your distress to a minimum in front of Tommy, but Ghost could still feel the worry that emanated from you, shrugging (as best he could) and looking away.
“I couldn’t find the medkit.” You raised a brow at his apprehensive words, lifting yourself off the floor along with Tommy and adjusting your hold on him.
“It’s where it always is.” You started moving, giving him little to no time to react before he had jolted up and started following, almost crashing into you as you stopped in your tracks once you’d opened the door, seemingly forgetting about the company you’d been thinking about mere moments before. “Oh.”
“Is that him?” Soap said with a smile before anyone spoke, gesturing towards the small boy fidgeting in your arms.
“No. Just some other random kid, Johnny.” Ghost’s hands once again found their rightful place on your hips and pushed you slightly to urge you to continue your walk, a huff leaving your lips at his impatience (although you couldn’t really blame him, you too would be impatient if there were a literal hole in your shoulder), as you made your way back in to the bedroom, feeling Ghost move around behind you as if he were shielding you from the prying eyes of his Sergeants and Captain, who simply wanted to catch a glimpse of the small boy.
“Here.” You called out as you handed Tommy over to his father, opening up the mirror in the bathroom and pulling out the small yet quite big medkit he’d gifted you.
Ghost tried his best to ignore the small bottles of pills he spied along the shelves of the little cupboard as you opened up the medkit, looking through all the items.
“I… I don’t know how to use most of these.” You mumbled, taking it over to him so he could look through it.
“Don’t worry, we do.” Tommy was handed back off to you, no doubt giving the small boy whiplash from how fast he was being moved from one parent to another like a hot potato. “Might need some help with the stitches.”
Stitches.
You willed away the look of discomfort that would no doubt try to show on your face at the mere thought of it.
Now, you weren’t the most horrible person at stitching clothes, you’d fixed a few items for both Tommy and you, and maybe the odd time you’d found a hole in Simon’s hoodie and couldn’t just leave it like that, but the thought of using a needle and string to stitch up a wound instead of the normal cloth made shivers rack your body.
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” You breathed out, instead of letting out the worries that swirled about your brain. I mean, these men were dealing with blood and gore almost daily, surely you could manage to deal with a little wound, right?
“Hey. We’ve been treated by worse. Won’t be any worse than doin’ it ourselves.” He murmured, opening the door for you.
And that filled you with some reassurance at first, but as you disinfected your hands and were given the needle and string, you couldn’t help but feel sick, turning your head over to the little playpen you’d purchased a few days ago where Soap was sitting next to looking down at Tommy play. Ghost right at his side glaring down at them, as if Tommy’s personal bodyguard.
“You don’t have to, really. I can try and do it myself.” Gaz assured you with a smile, starting to move his arm away from you.
“With one hand?”
“You’d be surprised what I can do with one hand, ma’am.” He grinned, getting a furious look from Ghost.
You breathed out a laugh, shakily taking his arm into yours and bringing it back to where he had it before, angling the needle to his wound before taking one last look of reassurance up at the man, who only nodded in response.
It wasn’t as disgusting as you had expected, but the sounds and feelings were still uncomfortable.
You finally finished the final stitch, shakily tying the knot before cutting the thread, disposing yourself of the latex gloves you’d put on.
“Is- Is that okay?”
“It’s perfect, love, don’t you worry. Did it better than I ever could.” Gaz encouraged, getting some bandages and helping you to wrap it around his now sanitised wound. “Could easily get a job as a nurse if you ever wanted to, eh? Think Ghost would love to have you on base.”
“That’s enough, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, pushing himself off the wall and nodding down at Johnny. “Get a move on.”
You shared a smile with Gaz before Soap took his spot, albeit a bit more awkward, and raised his leg up to the sofa (you almost had a heart attack before you realised he’d kindly discarded his shoes before doing so).
“Oh, do I-.”
“No need f’stitches. I just need a bit o’help disinfecting it.” He mumbled, always the careful one when it came to cleaning.
“Yeah, okay.” You did just as he had told you to, carefully pouring the alcohol onto the gauze before wiping away any dirt and dry blood from the graze before sticking a clean one over the wound with the help of a few bandages.
You couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of your handiwork as you watched him get up, his limp a bit better now that he definitely knew that he hadn’t contracted any types of diseases thanks to the wound, taking back his spot back next to Gaz and Tommy, the other sergeant moving a little toy around in hopes of attracting Tommy’s attention.
“I’ll help with this one, Lieu-”
“No need.” Ghost interrupted the captain, sitting down on the sofa and immediately sinking it, the piece of furniture still not used to his weight even after all the time he’d been using it. “I’ll help her.”
You nodded with a smile, although it quickly flipped upside down as you realised what dealing with Ghost’s wound entailed, watching him slowly take off most of his tactical gear before leaving him in one of those damn tight shirts, moving the sleeve off the wounded shoulder and letting you see what you were dealing with in full detail.
“Clean and stitch it up. Not that hard, lovie.” He mumbled, his words just for your ears, one warm hand landing on one of the thighs you had curled beneath you on the sofa you were kneeling on. “Just going to be a bit more difficult to heal.”
“Okay.” You swallowed, tugging on another pair of gloves before balancing yourself with one hand on the part of his uninjured shoulder, somehow still feeling the body warmth through the latex.
This was different from Gaz’s wound. While the other man had been looking away the whole time, you could feel Ghost’s sharp gaze on you even as you thread the needle, your body squirming beneath the uncomfortable stare.
“C’mon.” He urged, settling himself further into the sofa to make the next part easier for you, letting yourself take a deep breath before starting without a second though, pleasantly surprised as he didn’t even move an inch with every stitch you made, although you could feel his thumb rubbing over the warm skin of your thigh with every second, your hand giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze every time you tightened a stitch, despite knowing he probably didn’t need the same reassurance you did. “It’s okay.”
It almost felt like you were the one getting stitched up, not him.
You finished with shaky hands, dropping the gloves and needles and patching it up, jolting away when his hand grabbed at the bandages, finishing the job himself.
“Thank you.” He mumbled, the hairs on your body standing up as you realised finally how close you’d been to him the whole time, slowly letting go of his arm and letting them fall back onto your lap.
“It’s fine.” You watched him get up, once again not showing a single ounce of pain or discomfort despite the pain you knew a person who wasn’t desensitised to this type of wounds would be in, your eyes following him across the room until he reached the two Sergeants, who were still trying to gain Tommy’s affection.
When you saw them like that, they hardly looked like the type of men whose job consisted on fighting and killing for a living, they just looked like two blokes you’d find at the pub on a random sunday night, despite the tactical gear they still wore, having fun with watching a kid roll around with his toys.
“Thank you.” Price rumbled from behind you, a hand landing on the headrest of the sofa. “For letting us stay. Feels like no one’s said that yet.”
You shrugged, running your hands up and down your thighs in order to cure the chill that had just run through your body. “It’s okay. I mean… Simon’s done a lot for us, guess I could just repay the favour one way or another.”
Although maybe you would’ve thought of a more traditional way of doing that, one that wasn’t stitching up his men and him in the middle of the night.
“Hmph. Well, considering what good a job you’ve done, I’d say you’ve paid it back pretty well.”
You smiled up at him, not catching the look Ghost sent to you from the other side of the room, looking down at the small boy he was cradling and then up at the time, not having missed the eyebags that adorned your normally bright eyes.
He called your name as he came near, his heart missing a beat as you instantly outstretched your arms out at him, stomach sinking as he quickly realised you were gesturing towards Tommy and not him, carefully bringing him down to latch onto your chest.
“Think we’ll be leavin’ now.” He said, catching both your and Price’s attention.
“Leaving?”
“Where else are you going to stay?” You prodded for an answer, pressing Tommy further into the jumper you’d pulled on.
“We’ll find somewhere.” He looked up at Price for reassurance, but got a not so on board look back.
You looked between the two, who stayed silent enough for you to make a quick inventory check in your head, looking down at the pull out sofa you were currently sitting on and thinking back to the possible inflatable mattress you had stored in your room.
“Simon.” You said, almost like a child tugging on their parent’s sleeve to ask for something. “You can just stay for the night. I’ve got a few blankets and a small mattress along with the sofa. I don’t mind.”
You always felt like you could drown in his eyes when he looked at you like that, glassy eyes filled with concern and apprehensiveness at your words, as if he was assessing the true nature behind them only to find that you were only speaking the truth.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
And maybe, in the heat of the moment, you’d under planned a bit, since you realised mid unfolding some blankets that both the sofa and the small mattress would not fit four people, even if one decided to sleep on the floor, they’d be far from comfortable curling into some random nook or cranny of the flat.
You fluffed up some of the pillows, listening to some parts of the conversation Gaz and Soap were having from inside the bathroom, jumping out of your skin as one of Ghost’s hands appeared on your back.
“I'm going to let Soap and Gaz take the sofa. Price’s alright with taking the mattress.” He explained, hand continuing to rest on the small of your back even as you leaned back up, working on shoving a cushion into its cover.
“And you?” You asked, almost dreading the answer.
He looked away, a faraway gaze on the visible part of his face as if he wasn’t really there with you, as if you were just talking to a shell of a man who someone else was controlling.
“I don’t need to sleep. I’m fine with staying in Tom’s room.” He responded, taking the pillow from your hands and placing it down on the inflatable mattress that lay next to the sofa.
“What? You’re hurt, Simon, you should be resting!”
Silence.
“You’re not fucking superhuman, you know that, right?!” You snapped, grabbing at his sleeve and forcing him to look your way. “You need rest like anyone else. Just because you cover your face and act like you don’t care about anything does not mean you’re special.”
God, shut up! Your brain was shouting at you, unbelieving that you were getting so worked up over a man you’d convinced yourself that you wouldn’t let in no matter what, but there you were, horrified that he had such little care for his well-being that he would rather stay awake all night than find somewhere else to sleep.
“Just take my bed!”
The words were out of your mouth before you even realised it.
And clearly, you weren’t the only one who was surprised by them.
Simon was staring down at you with what you could only assume was a dumbfounded look, his eyes swirling with confusion.
“Your bed?”
“My bed.” You breathed out, horrified with yourself. “It's queen sized, you know that. You’ll fit.”
Silence engulfed the room, a pattern that seemed to follow every single one of your conversations you had in this exact spot of the living room, gazes interlocked together.
“No-��
“Yes. Get into your pyjamas and come to bed.” You said almost robotically, finishing the final cushion before pushing yourself off, quickly walking back into your room before the man could protest. You placed a hand against the wall in order to balance yourself as soon as you were out of his line of view, a shaky hand coming up to cover your mouth in shock of what you’d just asked, no, insisted him to do.
Soap and Gaz apologised for taking so long in the bathroom, letting you take their place so you could calm down a bit alone and in silence, sitting on the closed toilet with a shaking leg, biting your nails as you stared down at the white tiles.
You were so fucking stupid.
What was wrong with you!?
Why couldn’t you just stick to your initial feelings for him!?
Why couldn’t you just have let him do what he wanted!?
Why did you care so much about someone you’d insisted was nothing to you!?
You rested your face against the open palms of your hands, running them up and down until you rid yourself of the urge to want to cry, the opening of your bedroom door immediately catching your attention.
Ghost knocked at the door, making you jump for what seemed like the nth time tonight, calling out your name.
“I need to get changed.”
Your heart soared at the implication behind his hushed words.
Now, you don’t really know what you were expecting for his pyjamas to be, but the black shirt and cargo sweatpants he sported were definitely on brand for a man like Simon.
It’d been a really long time since you’d caught a peak at his arms, since even in the warmest weather possible, Simon always insisted on wearing at least a long sleeved shirt, leaving the rest of his body up to the imagination (which, thanks to that night, you didn’t really need), but thanks to the shirt he was currently wearing, it allowed you to gaze upon his muscular arms and the tattoo that ran the whole way up one of them, remembering faintly the moment he’d let you look at them for a moment before tugging you closer into his chest.
It also didn’t surprise you that he was still wearing the balaclava, although this one was different to the skulled one he normally wore, silver lines running over his chin, like the bottom set of teeth of the plastic skull he’d now discarded, leaving him almost naked in a way, after having gotten so used to him all covered up.
“Are you sure?” He asked one final time, standing at the edge of the bed.
“Yes, Simon.”
His gaze darted away from you as you called out his name, something you’d noticed he’d done the whole night every time you spoke his real name out, despite him never reacting this way when you were both alone.
“Lie down.” He did as you said, getting into the bed and pulling some of the covers up to cover his lap, turning to watch you as you leaned over to turn off the small lamp on your nightstand, the room instantly being filled with darkness after the click.
“You know…” Your voice came out hushed, further down than before, letting him assume that you’d just rested your face against your pillow. “Your skull mask looks silly.”
“Silly?” He whispered back, mock offended, like you’d just killed his entire family in front of him (which would be largely upsetting considering you were his family…).
“Silly.” You parroted, thinking back to the hard plastic skull. “You look like a little kid on halloween.”
“That was the goal.” He lazily joked, moving down so he too was lying on his own pillow, staring up at the darkness that used to be the ceiling, his hair scratchy against his nape and skull due to it being pressed against the material of his balaclava. “...my brother wore a mask like that. Used to scare the shit out of me.”
You let out a huff, impossible of even imagining a little version of your Simon being scared by his brother. “Isn’t he younger than you?”
“...”
“Oh my god, Simon.”
“I was easily frightened.” He said, knowing that if there were any source of light near you, you’d instantly be able to see the blush that no doubt was dusting his pale cheeks. “I was frail as a kid.”
Why was he telling you this?
“Frail?” You mumbled, moving yourself closer to him in order to hear him clearer.
“My dad wasn’t the nicest person.”
He should stop.
“You mean… He hurt you?”
“In more ways than one.”
You shouldn’t know this about him.
“That’s… Horrible. I’m sorry, Simon…”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
“It’s not… You don’t have to act like it is.”
“...”
“Simon.”
Your sweet voice called out to him, your hand brushing against his arm and causing a ripple effect on it, all of his hairs standing on edge at the soft touch.
“Simon…”
“I’m sorry.” He breathed out, turning around, forcing your hand away from him in doing so, leaving you staring at his back in the dark.
Silence engulfed the room once again, your hand frozen in place from where it had been pressed against before, clenching it closed and bringing it back, turning around yourself and snuggling into the nice-smelling covers.
You didn’t even bother trying to continue the conversation or bid him a goodnight like you wish you could, instead keeping the silence going until the inevitable grasp of Hypnos would pull you under.
But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep, even after only having slept two hours that day, even as no sound came through the baby monitor on your bedside table, even if everything was perfectly scripted for you to close your eyes and finally get some rest…
You turned around, feeling around the cold space of the bed that laid between Simon and your sleeping bodies, squeezing your eyes closed before taking a shaking breath.
It was cold. That was it. It was cold, and you felt bad for him.
There was no other reason for why you wrapped your arms around his chest from behind, curling into the shape of his body and pressing your face right against his warm back, feeling him tense beneath your hands.
You stayed there, waiting for the unavoidable moment where he’d try and shake you off like you were some kind of leech, but he didn’t.
Instead, one of his hands came up to rest over the one you had above his heart, squeezing it slightly, his way of telling you that this was okay without openly speaking out.
You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and pulling yourself closer into his warmth, feeling his heart beat slowly grow steady beneath your palm as time went past.
Simon hoped that the tear streaks down his balaclava wouldn’t be noticeable in the morning.
This time, when you woke up, he wasn’t gone.
Although a bit dishevelled compared to the normal composure he kept, he was there.
The mask had ridden up to his cupid’s bow in the middle of the night, exposing the not very well-kept beard he’d started growing under there, along with tufts of blond hair that peaked out from around his nape.
It was clear you’d both moved a lot across the course of the night, by the way you’d both ended in a completely different position than the one you'd started in, with you on the other side of the bed wrapped up in his arms, your face pressed into his chest instead of his back.
His warm hands were covering your lower back, brushing lightly against the elastic band of your pyjama bottoms, one leg draped over his waist while the other was between his.
You tentatively raised your hand to run your fingers against the hair at the base of his head, curling a slightly long strand around one of your fingers and letting out an amused huff at the curl that formed there.
“Ow.” Simon rasped, although his voice was as monotonous as could be, pulling his head away from your hand. “Ticklish.”
“You’re ticklish?” You mumbled, watching him open his eyes before craning his head away from you, a pop coming from the bone as he stretched, moving onto his back and pulling you with him, letting you curl into his side.
Not one word was spoken during the entire morning about what was going on, about your sudden change of heart (although you knew it wasn’t sudden), about what this night would mean for the two of you moving forward.
Neither of you said a word, afraid that the conversation that would follow would be the one to ruin whatever had happened,
You wandered out of your bedroom an hour after you’d officially woken up, wanting to indulge in the warmth Simon had provided all throughout the night, surprised and a bit shocked (you’d honestly forgotten what was waiting for you outside), Tommy fidgeting around in Soap’s arms as he held him with surprising care and ability.
“Are you some type of expert?” You said with a careful smile, not missing the way his eyes darted down to the bruises around your neck, still feeling bad for what he had done.
“Uh, kinda’? Got four sisters, each of ‘em with their own set of bairns.” He shrugged, the movement making Tommy let out a giggle through his dummy. “Lad was cryin’, couldn’t just leave him there.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.” You felt a bit embarrassed for not having woken up at your baby’s crying, but you were glad that he seemed perfectly happy, clearly enjoying the attention he’d been receiving the past hours. “He’s starting to teeth, that’s probably why he was crying, my poor-”
The slamming down of a mug interrupted you, staring dumbfounded at Gaz, who’d been the one to cause the noise.
“Fuck! Sorry, sorry, ma’am, just-” He wiped away some of the spilt tea (you were even more confused as to where he’d gotten the cuppa until you noticed the captain standing next to the stove with your kettle), looking up at you with darkening cheeks. “Sorry, my arm’s still a bit fucked-”
“Clean it up.” Ghost ordered gruffly as he walked out of the bedroom, clad in most of the clothing he’d worn yesterday, hiding once again all the skin and muscles you’d ran your hands over that morning.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a prick, man.” Gaz grumbled.
Ghost leaned down to you, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden closeness, in front of his teammates no less, but ended up pressing a finger to Tommy's nose, your cheeks going warm out of embarrassment.
“You made tea?” He grunted at his Captain, who shrugged, taking a sip of the warm brew.
“I’ll pay it back.”
“Y-”
“It’s not necessary, it’s just tea.” You elbowed Ghost before he could say anything rude, placing Tommy down onto his highchair before moving to get some of his food and get yourself a cup in the meantime.
“Can’t thank her enough.” Price grumbled to Ghost as you and the other two started a conversation, watching the masked man pour himself a cup before swigging it all down quickly like it was some type of liquor. “For letting us stay.”
“Yeah. I’m going to have to make it up for her.” Ghost answered, watching you try to coerce Tommy to open his mouth for a spoonful of baby food with Soap’s help.
“Seems like you already did, she looks real happy.” Price nudged Ghost, like a father teasing his son for getting his first girlfriend, his moustache twitching as Ghost turned away from him, further pushing the thought that it was just like that type of scenario.
“We should get going. I can’t risk it further.” Ghost responded instead of continuing the banter, pushing himself off the counter and turning to you, Price immediately dropping the funny act and nodding, moving to get some of their things they’d tried to place neatly in one of the corners.
“We’re going.” He announced, heart sinking into his stomach at the disappointment that washed over your face, placing down the baby food on the table and leaning back up to your full height.
“Now?”
“Yes. Soap, go start the car.” Ghost ordered, the scot doing just as his captain had and dropping the smile that had been previously adorning his face, getting up and taking his jacket from Price, not forgetting to say a proper goodbye to you and give you a firm handshake that he hoped transmitted the apology for everything he did, and as you received it with a small smile, he hoped it meant that you forgave him.
“Where are you going?” You asked, watching Gaz and Price reload some of the guns from the other side of the flat.
“Base. Hopefully, Laswell will have backup and we’ll be able to finish what we started.” He said, gloved fingers running over Tommy's soft head, messing up some of the curls that had started to form. “I’ll call you once we’ve finished.”
The look you gave him spoke a million words.
“I promise. I’ll be back, you know that.”
You felt embarrassed at how quickly he’d managed to discern what your look had meant, but nodded nonetheless, saying goodbye to the other two (Gaz giving you a bright smile and Price clasping your hand in his once again, his presence washing away any worry you might have just like last time), leaving the three of you alone in your apartment.
“Duck, daddy’s going now.” You whispered to your son, the small boy clearly having no idea of what you were saying, but giggling up at you as you pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. “Say bye-bye, now.”
You moved his little hand in a goodbye motion, Ghost’s mask moving over his lips as he smiled, raising one of his hands to wave goodbye back.
Despite having done this same song and dance for almost four months now, it still didn’t get rid of the bittersweet feeling that bloomed in Simon’s chest, already knowing the drill as you led him to the front door with a solemn look tugging at your pretty features.
“We’ll talk once I get back, okay? I promise.” He spoke softly as he stood by the opened door, a gloved hand coming up to cup at your face and tilt you upwards so you were both making eye contact. “‘Bout everything.”
“Okay.” You whispered, fighting the urge to lean further into his touch. “I’ll be here.”
He nodded, but his hand still didn’t move.
You waited, for what, you didn’t know. You were slowly getting lost in his eyes when his other hand came up to pull his mask up over his lips, leaning down and softly tugging you upwards until they met your forehead, the kiss short and sweet despite all the pain and darkness that you knew followed him, always a surprise when it came to how quickly he could change from the personality he showed to you and Tommy to the personality you’d witnessed him show to his teammates not long ago.
You blinked up at him owlishly, watching him pull the mask back down and let go of your face (though his touch still lingered) before taking a step back.
“Stay safe.” You repeated like all the other times.
“I always do.” He replied, and like always, he disappeared down the hall.
“No.”
“Oh, come on. He’ll like it!”
“He won’t.” Ghost snapped, taking one last look at the small toy Gaz was waving around, like Ghost was a child to be entertained and he was just being fussy, which really wasn’t that off track.
“How’d you know?”
“‘Cause I’m his dad!” He looked away, already regretting having brought his teammates back to your place and therefore letting them meet Tommy. Maybe he should’ve just let them bleed out back then.
“And you’re honestly telling me that a child will not like this?” Gaz moved it around a bit more, almost tantalising his lieutenant.
Ghost peaked back at the small teddy bear, its fur fluffy and inviting and its black button eyes adorning its little face.
“Just take it, mate. It’ll make me really happy!”
“I don’t care about your happiness, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, snatching the toy from his grasp and shoving it into one of his pockets, ignoring the bright smile Gaz sent him and the punch to his shoulder.
“God, you’re the best, Ghost. Text me if he likes it, eh?”
He never did text Gaz back, but Gaz had apparently ran his mouth to Soap about Ghost’s reluctant acceptance of the gift, since the next time he saw Soap, the scot had kindly brought a little teddy bear with a tiny Scottish flag in its paw.
And although Ghost wanted nothing more than to rip it up in front of him, he found himself passing them on to Tommy the day he came back to you, “reluctantly” sending each of the Sergeants a picture of the small boy curled up to the two bears.
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x fem reader#ghost x female reader#ghost x fem!reader#ghost fic#cod mwii x reader#— ménage#cod mwii#call of duty#call of duty x reader
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home and the ghost mug
simon “ghost” riley x reader (cod)
this is unedited, and born from a random thought as I put away dishes and cleaned my kitchen at 1am. warnings: none. themes: fluff, cute mug moment, ghost and a non-military partner. just toothrotting 1am thoughts.
you don’t like to think you live alone, but you know you spend more time waiting, than you have with him.
this time it’s been months. the last contact weeks ago. it’s normal, but it doesn’t lessen the frustration you feel—or how it balls and clumps with worry.
you know you signed on to this. married yourself to the wondering and standing by when you bought the house with him. it’s why you’ve perfected the art of keeping busy, remaining distracted.
today, your mind slips. falls down on the job, scrapes the skin from your knees and bruises your heart. thoughts appearing, the faint sound of his gruff voice echoing in the walls. unable to unsee the shadow of his last time here—how broad he appears in your door frames.
it’s the slip up that means you unconsciously make a tea for yourself in his mug. a no-go, a thing you never do. the cup sacred, forever off limits unless he’s here. the one you’d bought as a joke, wrapped it in paper and watched him stare at it when he unveiled the skull on the side with the bone handle.
“this bought for me?”
“well, it’s not for next door, simon.”
suddenly, you don’t fancy tea. your heart aching, all heavy and downtrodden in your chest. so you pour it away, washing it out and putting it away quickly. because you know it’ll sting seeing it on the drainer in the morning. practically punch you in the gut—because your mind will trick itself into thinking he’s home. that he’s back. for whatever time he can spare.
by the time his car pulls onto the drive, the house is coated in darkness. the moon full, high in the sky. shimmering a luminescent glow on everything and anything it can touch.
you must be tired, shattered. no murmur of his name or quickened footsteps when he slides his key on the lock, when he takes his boots off. he does do it with precision, care—almost mouse like for a man that’s more mountain than man. shoving them away in the contraption you bought sometime between the two of you moving in and him coming back to you.
and because the house is quiet, silent. a pin being dropped sounding like a shout, he begins his routine. the one where he shoves the things away he doesn’t need to have. not needing reminders of what he does as ghost when he’s trying to focus on being simon.
his routine concludes with a shower in the downstairs guest bathroom, watching the places he’s just been slide down the plug hole, all out of sight, out of mind. you know this routine, keeping some of his casual clothes—sweats and tees in a drawer, for moments like this.
even if he should expect it by now, he still smiles as your genuineness. your kindness. the one that comes ti you with ease.
it’s why he craves being next to you, being able to hear your breaths—close his eyes and allow the evidence to bury the niggling worries he amasses when he’s not with you.
but, joining you isn’t possible. discovering you star-fished, snoring lightly—one of his t-shirts covering and concealing you. practically burying you. and so he closes the door, heads back downstairs. running a hand over the back of his head, feeling clumps of long and short hair from his bad diy cut you’ll undoubtedly have things to say about.
but it isn’t until he’s walking past the kitchen, does he notice the mug and glass cupboard ajar. a thought appearing, his hand retrieving his mug and placing it on the side. a sign, he hopes—a bold exclamation that he is home, in case you wake before him.
you don’t wake before him. simon and fucked up body clock, as usual, wakes at the first break of sunlight. only rising from the guest bed when he hears the floorboards above. your feet eventually coming down the staircase, all slow and heavy, his mind imagining you rubbing your eyes, softly sighing at another day.
he waits in the doorway—the one connecting the guest bedroom to the kitchen—watching you come to a standstill, eyes blinking as you stare at the mug.
simon doesn’t know the error you made yesterday, that you’re going through a crisis of whether you’d put it away or not. whether you’d lost your mind from missing him so much.
he just knows you’re not reacting. not whispering, never mind shouting his name. so he clears his throat, loud, purposeful.
and your head spins—he’s even pretty sure he hears it crack—and then the reaction he expected lands.
it erupts over your face. an explosion of confusion and joy, tear-filled eyes and a large smile, before you’re in his arms, face buried against his chest as he feels you shake with sobs he hopes are because you’re happy.
“take it you’re happy i’m home?”
“more than you think.”
his chin comes to rest on the top of your head, fingers stroking up and down your back.
the mug becomes a sign, a beacon.
it only ever used to indicate he was home—a trophy that remains on the side, until he gets the call that he has to go.
then he is the one to put it away, hating how he turns to always find your lips being chewed by your teeth.
“it’ll be back out before you know it.”
“it better be.”
simon doesn’t promise. because he knows—as do you—that there’s none he can keep in the games he plays. he comforts you without words, his mouth slanted over yours.
I’ll always fight to get home to you.
#ghost x reader#cod ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost riley x reader#cod x reader#cod mwii x reader#cod ghost#ghost cod x reader#ghost cod mw2#ghost cod x you#mwii x reader#ghost x you#Simon Riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod mwii#cod mw2 ghost
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Incorrect COD quotes
Gummy worms
Canary, pouting while writing down her reports: ...
Gaz, to Ghost: why does she look so sad?
Ghost: Price found her secret stash of gummy worms.
Gaz: Ah...
Ghost: ...
Gaz, looking around: ... Where is Soap?
*distant sound of an explosion and an angry Price, with stomps down the hallway*
Ghost, smirking under his mask: went to get them back.
#cod mw2 incorrect quotes#cod incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes cod#incorrect cod quotes#ghost x reader x soap#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish#ghost x soap#john soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader#soap x reader#cod mw2#cod mw2 x reader#cod mwii#cod mwii x reader
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Trust (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)
Summary: You and Ghost have been captured for questioning. Loyal to a fault, you'll do anything to avoid seeing his face before he's ready to show you.
AN: I'm not immune to military propaganda. Nor am I immune to the babygirlification. In a slump writing wise so I gave this a go. I might try one with Soap next but no promises since it'll probably end up on the never-ending pile of unfinished fics.
Content warnings: Descriptions of torture, injuries as a result of torture, moments of vulnerability (aka 141 care for each other).
Reader uses they/them pronouns and is part of 141. Fic can be read as platonic or romantic.
Masterlist // AO3
A palm smacked across your cheek; the sting brought you back to consciousness. Screwing your eyes up, you tried to settle them in your skull so that you could take in your surroundings. Your hands and legs tied to a chair was what you noticed first. A fold-out table was a few feet out of reach in front of you.
Then, beyond that, a sliver of light in the roof – a hole, not a light bulb – dropped onto a body, bound like yourself and twenty feet away. The carved mask hiding the face was illuminated.
Your body wrenched against your restraints, “Hey!”
Another slap silenced you. You looked up at the offender you had somehow looked over. A lackey. No one you recognised from any intel or manilla folder or briefing, so you surveyed their appearance for just how much this soldier was trusted with.
Single gun on one hip.
KA-BAR on the other.
Kevlar vest that was more slack on the right shoulder.
More weapons that you had, now that your arsenal had been torn from you.
With the clanging of metal, a rectangle of light broke into the room. Room felt like the wrong word. This was too empty, echoey to be a mere room. A silhouette appeared in that light then vanished as the door closed behind them. Footsteps, slow and steady, approaching you, and the lackey left your side.
Ronin Foster bent at the waist to meet your unwilling gaze. He looked almost identical to the photo you’d been given in your briefing about him. One difference was clear: the burn mark running parallel to the left side of his chin. You couldn’t fathom where or how he’d gotten that injury, nor did you have a lot of time to look at it before Foster turned silently and unrolled a sleeve of weapons onto the table.
You caught Ghost’s eyes, the whites stark against the shadows and black paint. He didn’t avoid your gaze. He held it, and even when Foster stepped in the way, you felt that conflicted comfort you had grown to know in the presence of your Lieutenant and his masks.
The rest of the 141 were possibly being held elsewhere. Or they could’ve made it out. But it would take days to reconvene and organise a rescue mission.
This was your new home.
Your training did not desert you as your captor removed his gloves, tugging at the fingers to free them. One reached behind him and withdrew from his belt a gun.
Following the arc of his arm’s swing, his body wrenched around. A slash of agony struck your forehead against the butt of his gun. Your ears rung around the hollow of your skull like the bells of Notre Dame. The room wobbled as you righted your head. You couldn’t make out the details in Ghost’s mask anymore, not as Foster pulled off the skull plate and tossed it aside. Its clattering on the ground punctuated the air. Your gaze wavered against the dizzying disorientation as Ghost writhed to get away. But Foster was still unrolling the balaclava off his face. The second you saw a hint of Ghost’s chin, your eyes snapped shut.
Boots strode across the concrete. Suddenly your chin was grabbed up, no doubt facing your captor. Ghost’s gruff grunts boomed across the gap between you as he struggled against his restraints – that’s what you presumed, your eyes still closed.
But Foster was ignoring that side of the room blatantly, his grip crushing your cheekbones like he could wrench it off and throw it alongside Ghost’s mask. You narrowed your breaths to control yourself. While you couldn’t see, you couldn’t predict what could happen. But your defiance refused to let this awful man dictate when you saw Ghost’s face for the first time.
“Who told you about this place?” Foster asked quietly.
Nothing was heard from Ghost now, besides his breathing. You tried to match yours to his, pressing your lips together, your nostrils flaring against the throbbing pain.
Sharp pain splintered through your big toe, up your right foot. Your body fought the restraints and channelled your masked yelps into the bindings. Slowly, your chest puffed out all the air before sucking some back in.
“You’ve got at least nine more chances to tell me,” and Foster tapped his weapon – presumably the butt of his gun - against the rest of your toes. “Now tell me, how did you find this place?”
Between internal screams, you prayed that Ghost wouldn’t give up, and that his presence would give you the strength to do the same.
-----------------------------------------------
“Gambit, you still with me?”
You let out a hum, since it was all that your throat would allow. A sigh emitted from your Lieutenant. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or remorse. Sure, Ghost cared for you. You were on his team; it was in his job description to give the bare minimum amount of shits about you. However you could only hope that he gave as many as you did him. Or maybe now you hoped he didn’t, so that the mental barrier holding back the intel didn’t break so soon – or at all.
Your eyebrows raised and scrunched to stretch your face, but your eyes remained shut. Ghost hadn’t said a word about his mask being replaced and you doubted that Foster been kind enough to replace it between sessions.
The sound of the door opening reached you again; you could tell by the pattern of the foot fall that it was Foster. So, you cracked a joke in your head, that you were privileged that a terrorist with a notoriously busy schedule had made way for you and Ghost.
The laughter in your head was cut off when a fist yanked at the roots of your hair, forcing you to face the ceiling. Your eyes winced but still did not-
“Open.”
You waited for Foster’s response to your inaction.
A gloved hand suddenly grappled with your jaw, which was as clenched as your eyelids.
“Your mouth. Open it.”
Eventually, Foster managed to get it open long enough to pour something in. You choked on the first splash but began glugging it down once you realised that it was water and that Foster wasn’t pinching your nose. This wasn’t waterboarding. This was survival – extending your torture to reap its potential benefits. Thus you didn’t savour any of it nor save any to spit back in Foster’s face. Your torturer threw your head aside, strain twinging up your neck. A few seconds later, you could hear similar sounds – Ghost’s turn. That other benefit of not having to see whatever Foster was doing to Ghost. Unfortunately, your shoulders could not reach high enough to shield your ears.
A scrape from the table told you Foster had brought back his tools. Last time he was here, he’d tried to use them on Ghost. However since you weren’t opening your eyes, the effect was not as intended. As a reflex, you attempted to dissociate. One might think the injuries and blood loss might make it easier to fade away from your body. But no, the pain grounded you in your body. So it only made things worse when you found your jaw getting wrenched at again.
“Let them go!” boomed Ghost, causing your heart to ripple against your ribs. Him showing an ounce of care scared you more than Foster did. It meant something worse than before was coming and you were both getting close to breaking.
A bang shattered against your ear drums; the darkness before your eyelids grew a tad bit brighter. Your neck was sharply encircled by Foster’s arm, and your chin struggled against the crook of his elbow. Airway trapped, you were immobilised and drowning on dry land. The grip on you tightened, squeezing your eyes out of their sockets but still you held strong. If this was the last thing you did, you would not betray your friend.
The shouting began, all blended together, overwhelming your fractured mind. It grew and grew into a crescendo of bellows that shrilled with its urgency. Your mind bubbled at the edges a
Then it stopped. A snap. Foster’s weight dropped onto you. Something metal clattered onto the floor. Wet dribbled down your neck.
Thunderous absence of noise surrounded you, your weak attempts to suck in a deep breath barely a prickle in it. You hunched under Foster’s weight. There was no energy left to make a pitiful attempt to dissuade him. You were so encompassed by it that you failed to notice the approaching footsteps right up until you felt the air punctuated into your cheek by this new person’s presence.
A hand wiped at your forehead, lifting gently as it went.
“Gambit, you with me?”
You let out a sigh crossed with a laugh, “Gaz?”
Gaz replied with a chuff of relief, “Let’s get you home.”
The weight on your shoulders was yanked aside; your wrists felt an inch of relief as the plastic bindings were severed. There was din all around again: radio chatter, mumbled remarks about the location, and echoes around the concrete.
You tried raising your head to see “Ghost?”
“I’m here,” and his voice was oh so close now, “I’m here. You’re ok.”
Then you felt the binds on your wrists slacken completely. Your body tipped forwards and your head knocked into someone else’s.
“Gotcha.”
Ghost’s.
“You can open your eyes.”
Your grimy, sweat-stained skin rubbed harshly against his as he instructed you to open your eyes. Your whimper could not be contained as you shook your head:
“No. I don’t want to.”
“You need to open your eyes, Gambit.”
“Your face,” Your arm wavered, preventing you from emphasising your point, “I can’t.” And your body slouched further into him. True darkness took over the edges of your eyelids. The last thing you recalled was being caught by three hands and someone saying your name – not your callsign, but your name.
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Your feet were in bandages, bones reset, though amputation was not out of the questions just yet. Turns out three days with sprains, breaks, and no toenails were not beneficial to you. It was a good thing that you had been carried to the helicopter and not made to walk
Stiff with lack of use, you deduced, and you didn’t try to wiggle them as you opened up your eyes. The bulbs above your bed burnt your sight; you winced away from them. Curtains surrounded your bed. They protected you from the shame you might’ve felt had anyone seen the state you were in. With a sigh, you willed yourself to sink into the mattress a little deeper and return to slumber.
However a set of approaching footsteps caught your ears. Then a gloved hand peeled back one of the curtains to reveal Ghost, his other arm still in a sling that was stark white against his normal gear and the basic black balaclava that was back where it belonged.
“Gambit,” he said, hesitating in the gap between the curtains before drawing them.
You went to say his alias, but you were halted by a sudden coughing fit. Your throat had decided now was a good time to curl up into sandpaper. At your side, Ghost held the cup to your lips. Your weak hands tried to take over holding it; Ghost’s firm ones curled around yours steady. His gloves were worn and rough like the calloused skin beneath, warm against your feeble fingers.
Once the coughing fit had abated, Ghost sat back in the chair adjacent to your bed whilst not quite making eye contact with you. Normally, he had no issues staring you down. Perhaps he had been worried about you.
Sniffing behind his mask, Ghost said, “You did good not giving up that intel.”
A compliment. He must have been really worried about you.
“As did you, sir.”
His eyes wavered towards the passing clogs beneath the dividing curtain as a medic passed by your section. Remaining rigid, he adjusted the inside of his hoodie pocket before speaking again.
“You should’ve opened your eyes. It might’ve helped you with Foster.”
“He’d’ve seen how I reacted to you. Gauged better how to get us to give up.”
How to get me to give up, you thought.
You continued quickly, “It’s better that he just had you. You’re better at controlling yourself than me.”
Ghost was silent for a while, and you were too. It was only a tad uncomfortable; you chalked it up to your injuries, your elbows being the only thing that really felt relief in this hospital bed. Perhaps that was what compelled you to explain him your reasoning further.
“I didn’t want to see you if you didn’t want me to.”
“You’ve seen my face before.”
“Hardly.” That was true for the most part. All you’d allowed yourself to see was one hell of a chin when Ghost lifted his mask up to eat or drink something in a mess hall. You concluded, “Showing your face is your call, Ghost. Not Foster’s or mine or anyone’s.”
His shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. Then Ghost grabbed the neck and peeled his mask up in one smooth motion, his chin on his chest. A shock of dirty blond hair – an inch of it pure white at the roots – was flattened against his scalp, until Ghost’s fingers combed through it twice. It matched his dainty eyelashes.
He looked back up at last. Your sight was stuck mainly on his eyes, still surrounded by their superhero mask painted onto his skin where the holes in his mask had been. Then you started making concentric circles around his face. Scars cut from the corners of his lips through his cheeks. Little ones dotted about his prominent nose, eyebrows, forehead, lips. A few bruises highlighted where Foster had gotten him.
You realised that you were staring with your lips parted and eyes wide so that you could commit his face to memory. But you couldn’t help yourself either.
In short, your suspicions were confirmed: he was goddamn gorgeous.
He was just about to hide it away again, his matching skeleton gloves going to pull down his balaclava when you sat up quickly.
“Wait.”
Stilling, Ghost waited for you to speak again.
Your outstretched hand closed into a loose fist, “Just… Can I touch you?”
His reply was staggered with a blink, “Yes.” And he leant forwards with his elbows on his knees.
It struck you then why he was so unlike himself: he wasn’t here as Ghost.
The backs of your knuckles clumsily made contact with his right cheek, dragging down his jaw. Simon closed his eyes. His head tilted a fraction against your touch. Tears sprung free and tracked down your cheeks, contradicted by your smile that was brimming with the delight of being trusted.
“You’re right,” Simon mused when he opened his eyes, “Good thing you kept your eyes closed.”
“Yeah,” You sniffled. “But at least now I can tell Soap you’re not ugly.”
Scoffing, Simon tugged his balaclava back over his face and adjusted it to fit properly, “Fuckin’ hell.”
“How wrong he was,” you almost giggled with glee.
Even as the laughter ceased, your smile remained. And you could tell by the small crinkles at his eyes that Simon was too.
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AN: In my head, Ghost has Marie Antoinette syndrome, but before he had sandy blond hair.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley fanfic#ghost x reader#simon riley imagine#cod x you#cod mwii fanfic#simon ghost riley x reader#cod mwii#cod mwii x reader#r: gn#wc: >2.5k#my writing
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tw: soft mentions of SA
“i got you.. i got you love, don’t worry. i’m bringing you home…” simon whispered, following price and gaz, soap behind him. he held you tight in his arms, your cold, unconscious body. your clothes ripped and bloody. simon could only imagine what they did to you to get information out of you.
soap could read his mind. he saw his worried eyes when they found you tied to a chair, you’re hair matted with blood. your blood. they all knew of the soft spot simon had for you. it was adorable, to say the least. he was protective and loving. he killed anyone in the way to get to you, anyone.
he held you tighter to his chest with any noise he heard. “you’re safe now, lovie. i promise.”
a small kiss landed on your forehead through his mask. it was the thought that counts.
no one in the 141 had the heart to tell him that you couldn’t hear his promises. no one had the heart to tell him that you aren’t going home with him. no one with a beating heart could tell him that yours wasn’t beating anymore..
#simon riley#simon riley angst#simon riley x reader angst#141 x reader#cod mwii x reader#cod mw ghost#simon ghost#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader angst#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley call of duty#kibble writes cod
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Simon with an s/o who has a cat prt.2
All of you guys had such great ideas for how Simon and the cat would interact with each other so I tried my best to incorporate all of them into this little prt.2 🫶
Prt.1 here! <-
Simon can never seem to find his balaclava after he stays the night at your place
Probably because your cat steals it
Simon spends forever trying to look for his things only to find them burrowed away in the cat's tree tower
When he tries to get the stuff back the cat latches onto his arm claws digging into his skin and teeth piercing through his tattoos
When you walk into the living room the first thing you notice is the absolute mess that it's become in the 20 minutes you have been showering. The cushions and decorative pillows that once adorned your sofa are now scattered haphazardly on the floor the cabinets and drawers in the TV stand are now opened and the cat's toys and bedding are everywhere.
You stand there for a moment in shock before throwing your head back and taking a deep breath preparing yourself for the worst.
Fully walking into the living space you see Simon on the floor elbow-deep in the cat cubby connected to the cat tree looking for something.
"Simon Riley." Your voice is so eerily calm it makes your boyfriend tense and his face pulls into a wince. He slowly pulls his arm from the cubby and as he pulls his arm out your cat is attached to its bunny kicking and biting the already irritated skin while low growls emitted from its mouth.
Simon clears his throat so he won't sound as worried as he is, "yes dove?"
He would never admit this to anyone but Simon had been a little scared of you at this moment. He could practically feel the annoyance radiating off of your body and gulped at the sight of your raised brow and crossed arms.
You simply stare at him waiting for an answer to the question he knows is running through your head.
"I was lookin' for my balaclava when I saw this little shit," He tilts his head to the cat still latched onto his arm, "draggin' it into his little hideaway."
You continue to stare at him.
"...I'll clean up the mess, my love"
Sometimes when Simon tries to get in some extra sleep (really he just wants to cuddle you longer) the cat will plop itself right onto Simon's face and curl up into a ball
Sometimes simon falls back asleep with the cat on his face
You have a shit ton of pics of it (one of them is your lock screen background)
Simon is literally inhaling fur lmao
It's early, the sun just finally peaking over the horizon, seeping into the bedroom and through the sheer curtains. It's quiet in the apartment and Simon finds it calming with the accompanied feeling of your sleeping body on top of him like a dead weight.
Your cheek is squished against his chest causing your lips to part. You were drooling onto his skin but he wasn't too worried about it; not wanting to wake you up earlier than you were used to. He's taking in this moment, just being close to you after having been away for way longer than he would have liked but the moment is quickly ruined by the sound of the bedroom door squeaking open.
He groaned and closed his eyes; moving a hand to stroke down his face. He wrapped his arms around you squeezing tight in preparation for the fight over you with your cat.
When he felt the bed dip by his feet the by his thigh and then felt a wet nose hit his cheek he groaned again.
He can't move, no he won't move because, again, he doesn't want to wake you up not when you look so beautifully peaceful and snuggled up against him.
So he just lets it happen. He lets that stupidly annoying ball of fur plop onto his face blocking his airway. He can still breathe, taking in air through the thick fur of your cat. After a while, he tries to move his head to get the cat off of him but the cat moves to reveal its claws, moving them onto Simon's skin.
Simon gives up.
When Simon's laying down the cat definitely jumps up and throws all his weight onto Simon's crotch
The number of times you've seen your boyfriend doubled over in pain and the cat strutting away from him is worrying
"Fuckin 'ell!"
A yell from your lover was never a good sign, especially since the man wasn't a very loud person around you at least. So when you hear the pained howl from Simon you just about drop everything to get to him.
When you arrive in the living room you see your man doubled over, face by his knees and hands covering his lap. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes squint at the furball on the couch next to him.
If simon had any say in it he'd say the cat was smirking at him.
He takes a deep breath and sits back up and your at his side in an instant worried he's in pain from something that had happened during his last deployment.
"Babe? Baby are you okay?" Your hands are clutching at his face moving his head around to look for injuries you might not have noticed before.
"Your fuckin' cat jumped on me," He replies.
You are still a little out of breath from your run to him so the next word to leave your mouth is rushed, "What?" But then your eyes scan him and his hands are still covering his crotch.
You sigh.
"Jesus Si, I thought you were hurt."
His head snaps up to look at you, "What do ya mean? I was hurt, your cat hurt me."
You roll your eyes, kiss his forehead, and walk away.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley fluff#ghost x reader#cod mw2 x reader#cod x reader#cod mwii x reader#simon riley fluff
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A/N: I'm at a cafe and I literally can't stop thinking about fat!reader catching the eye of Gaz while ordering a drink so BEAR WITH ME OKAY
Currently picturing Gaz scoping out an area for a mission, wishing he had a dark coffee to keep him warm so he wanders into the nearest cafe. It's crowded, soft music playing from the speakers and pop art hanging from the walls and his eyes wander the throng of people - and then he sees you in the long line, layered up to your neck to keep out the cold, waiting patiently for a drink to warm your bones. He quietly slips behind you in line, unable to stop staring at the way your cheeks are reddened from the cold and how your soft stomach spills over your jeans, the way your jacket flatters your larger figure so well. He's immediately enamored, and when you give the barista at the counter your order, he orders the exact same thing so he can run up and "accidentally" grab your drink instead of his when they call them out. He pretends to be embarrassed and apologizes as your hands brush the same paper cup, and then flashes a charming smile and comments about how "you have great taste in beverages, love".
He asks for your name and if you'd like to sit down, and by the end of the hour he knows your name, your number, where you work, what you do for fun. He decides as he walks you out of the cafe, that an overwhelmingly sweet latte was a small price to pay in order to meet a gorgeous, soft thing such as yourself.
#ram writes#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick x reader#x gn!reader#x fat reader#x chubby reader#x plus size reader#cod mw#cod mw x reader#cod mwii x reader#kyle gaz garrick fluff#kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader#x gender neutral reader
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of birds and honey
part 1
(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU
summary: the year is 1312, and your fathers knight follows you to the wood.
The great hills surrounding the castle are a patchwork of green and yellows, as they always are during the summer months. Gray skies up ahead do nothing to dampen the mood of the castle; everyone is bustling about, preparing for the feast marking the new battalions arrival, as if their presence signifies something happier than impending war.
She can see them, now, where she is perched atop the highest wall-practiced, without fear- in a way her old governesses would have certainly called unbecoming of a lady. But did not the bible speak of the virtues of a young lady- justice, fortitude, among them?
(It takes great fortitude to learn the secrets she has learned, to climb over steep walls like they were bales of hay, to listen to words she would have heard anyway, had she been born a man. Listening from the eaves and skulking about is an act of justice, not a sin.)
The men, traversing down the trail, look like ants, she thinks- where she sits high above them, balancing on the stone, they look like children's toys. Tiny wooden figures, a small boy's idea of heroes, lined up on the yellow-green patchwork quilt.
When they finally ride over the moat and into the stronghold, they look like any other collection knights she has seen- some cloaked, some helmetless, all shining in the half clouded, setting sun.
That night is boisterous and rowdy, like any other feast. The courtyard is crowded with people- servants, villagers, everyone coming together to eat and drink and be merry. The tables are laden with the finest of foods. The smell of roast goose and heron, wine, and vomit hangs in the night air with the shouts and bawdy songs. The new knights drink and eat and throw things, singing their songs with everyone else. The castle hums with life, every voice and every soul another cell in one great organism.
(The whole time, she sits quietly as a lady should, but listens as a lady shouldn’t. No one notices, and why would they notice the Lord’s waif of a girl, silently eating at his right hand? The servants, the townspeople, even her father speak of her when they think she isn’t listening- she is, to them, as unnaturally quiet as a changeling and as likely to smile as a mourner. Such a shame, my lord, that her birth took your wife, god rest her soul. And for the child to not even be a boy…)
The stories that feast are rambling and, wine drunk, but the message is clear- they are hired soldiers with no Christian names, under orders from the king to protect the stronghold that is her home.
But one stands out. The only one still wearing his painted helmet, and as such doesn’t eat or drink with his companions. Instead, he sits on her fathers left side, speaking in low and gruff tones only when spoken to.
She picks at her food as her ears pick up words like more men and allies and a thousand dead, all spoken in an accent she thinks more suited to a farmer than a soldier.
As the feast begins to die down, dancers lying about drunk, he walks with her Lord father, presumably to show him a weak point in the castle walls.
She follows along, unseen, silent footsteps trailing behind them in the shadows. The knight with the painted helmet is tall and broad when he waves a hand at a wall that, upon closer inspection, does seem weaker than the rest. A chink in the castle’s armor, he says.
The fire dies out, people lay around in drunken heaps, and rats are scurrying for food in corners of the room by the time she retires for the night. Her maid is nowhere to be found- based on the way the Scotsman and her were wrapped around eachother earlier, it is likely best not to go looking for her- so she wanders alone to her quarters, a candle in one hand and a half eaten honey cake in the other.
The halls are dimly lit labrynths, and every footstep she takes makes a wet scuff along the perpetually damp straw covering the chilled stone floors. She does not believe in sneaking about when not needed, and enjoys a reprieve from constant surveillance as she licks honey carelessly from her fingers, focusing more on the sweetness of the honey cake than her surroundings.
And just as she turns the corner to the starcase, a hand shoots out from a shadow and grabs her arm.
Her gasp is muffled by a large hand, gloved. His other hand plucks the candle from her grasp, rests it on the narrow windowsill behind him. She scrapes and thrashes at the silver of his forearm, scrambling to reach for the knife at his side before he speaks.
“Pray, be silent, Lady- I know you are able.”
In response, she bites down on the gloved hand, hard. The man hisses but doesn’t let go, only roughly spins her to face him; and this is when she realizes it is the helmeted knight, eyes and armor shiny in the candlelight.
She shoves at his arms, and he concedes, letting her retreat three steps up the stairs before he takes her by the hand again.
“Release me, sir, or you will not enjoy the consequences,” She hisses. Something furious inside her is growing like a wildfire.
“I meant no offense, but only to warn you, fair lady,” he says, seemingly contrite, but with mirth in his voice. Is he smiling, behind that hideous helmet?
“Warn me?” She rips her hand from his. “Of what? Churlish knights, skulking behind corners?” She turns to go.
“You are one to scold on skulking behind corners, Lady. ” Her feet freeze where they are on the steps.
“Yes.” His voice is rough. “You are not as invisible as you may think- not to those trained to see, Lady. You should exercise more caution, when listenin’ from rafters and castle walls like a little bird.” He tilts his head, eyes trained on her, like a cat looking at a tree it’d like to climb. Or a bird it’d like to claw.
“I have been told you have a lovely mind. It would be a waste to see it dashed on a tower’s stony base.”
For the first time in ages, she forces her eyes to meet anothers. His are dark, redless, with what looks like coal smudged on his eyelids and undereyes. His eyes never falter from her stare, as would be proper. His pale lashes don’t so much as flutter.
She turns and continues walking upstairs- but before she rounds the corner, she looks behind and down to where he stands, at the base of the stairs, licking remnants of honey off his glove.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#cod mw2#ghost cod#ghost mw2#cod mw ghost#cod mwii x reader#simon riley x reader angst#part 2 coming soon#call of duty#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley headcanons
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hii! saw your post so im here to request some fluff :3 how about some sleepy morning cuddles w poly soapghost x m!reader?? thank you!
Warmth of the Sun and a Ghost
Pairing: Poly!SoapGhost x Male Reader
Word Count: 550
Masterlist
The sun pouring through the curtains forced you out of your sleep. You groaned, trying to force your face further into the back of the neck of the man in front of you, arms squeezing around his waist tighter than they were before. You heard a mirrored groan from in front of you and an annoyed sigh followed.
“Would you two let me up?” Ghost grumbles. He’d been stuck in between yourself and Soap last night. You got to sleep behind him, wrapped against his body while Soap nestled under Ghost’s chin. It was a strange position for him to be in, since he was generally the first one up out of the three of you while yourself and Soap liked to stay in bed for just a moment longer.
“C’mon, Si. Give us a few more minutes,” Soap’s voice was muffled as he buried his face back into the front of Ghost’s neck. “Yer warm.”
Ghost huffed but didn’t try to move to get out from in between the two of you. You pressed your lips against the back of Ghost’s neck, pressing a short kiss to it. “Do you want up?” You ask, ignoring the whine of protest Soap gave.
You heard Ghost let out another breath before me mumbled out a no. He felt you smile against the back of his neck and Soap smirk against the front of it. A grumble vibrated in his throat as you and Soap wrapped back around him.
Soap was right, Ghost was warm. He felt like a furnace even through the fabric of his shirt. It was something you'd grown to adore and on cold nights, you found yourself almost engulfing the man in bed.
Your hand slipped under the tshirt Ghost was wearing to rest on his skin. You heard him sigh quietly as you rubbed into the skin just above his hip. “Johnny’s right,” you murmur, slipping your hand over his side to rest on his stomach. “You’re warm.”
Soap’s hand joined yours on Ghost’s tummy and you heard his giggle catch in his throat. Ghost’s tummy twitched under your fingers and he let out a sigh when you trailed it further up his shirt to rest on his chest. Soap wrapped his arm around Ghost’s waist to rest his hand on the lieutenant’s back with a quiet hum of content.
You’d be hard pressed to get Ghost to admit he enjoyed being squished between both of his two boyfriends. He loved having you pressed against his back, your legs tangled with his and your arm wrapped around his waist. Loved feeling Soap curled up against his front, hands fisted into Ghost’s shirt with his head tucked comfortably under the man’s chin.
Ghost let out a quiet breath as you peppered soft kisses along the back of his neck before he rolled over enough to press a few short kisses to your lips with a low hum. When Ghost pulled back, Soap sat up to kiss you, cupping your face to bring you closer to him.
These lazy mornings were rare, even rarer for Ghost to stay with the both of you. The three of you let the early morning sun warm your bodies for a long while, simply enjoying the presence of the other two in bed.
#cod mw2 x male reader#cod mw2 x reader#soapghost x male reader#poly relationship#soapghost x reader#cod mwii x reader#cod mwii x male reader#soap x male reader#ghost x male reader#fluff#morning cuddles#grahhh i love men
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WARNING: CONTAINS IMPLIED SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/IDEATION. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
[Life is always better with you in it. I promise it’ll get better.]
Summary:
You and Simon had a good progress on your relationship… until he decided to break up and ghost you. Now he’s returned hoping to reconcile.
I might’ve been crying the entire time writing the dialogue… needless to say my eyes were puffy the following day…
Hot showers always seemed to be the best way to melt the day’s struggles away. Especially with being under stress from work, struggling to get a restful night’s sleep, and still recovering from the abrupt breakup with your boyfriend. He really lived up to his callsign because after his brief speech of ending the relationship, Simon “Ghost” Riley had simply vanished from your life. Granted, the two of you were taking things extremely slow. From when you met him, you sensed he’s lived a life that wasn’t kind at all. Being so patient with him had rewarded you with learning a new layer of Simon’s personality and little life details. But you persevered with him because you saw his worth in your future. Well… at least you did.
Shutting off the water and drying yourself off with a towel before dressing yourself in sweats and a jumper to contain the warmth of the shower you absorbed, you stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. The stark contrast of the cold floor against you feet had you rushing to the bedroom, but before you could enter you felt a slight draft. You paused in your steps and listened to the quiet night. Did you leave the window open? You knew it was opened earlier to not keep in the scent of the meal you cooked. Heading to the living room to slide it shut and hurry to kick on the heat, you missed the dark figure sitting in the corner of the room hidden by the shadows.
“You took a while to finish up.” The rumbling voice that sent pleasant butterflies through you only caused terror to strike through your chest.
“Oh, for fucks sake!… Simon?… are you trying to give me a heart attack?… wait… what are you doing here? How’d you get in?!” still feeling your heart trying to calm itself after a fright, you couldn’t help the nervous feeling of seeing Simon again even if he did break your heart and ghosted you.
“… went on an op… I did quite a bit of thinking… I missed you…” his words only struck annoyance in you,
“… right… I totally believe you. Listen, I’m not up for it to go back and forth with you… just… just leave me alone.” You couldn’t believe that after this man had left you for weeks, basically months, and now returned just because ‘he missed you’.
“Oh, come now Lovie. Let’s talk for a bit now.” Despite Simon dressed in his civvies, he still fashions himself as a shadow. His stature rising from the chair and slowly approaching you, reaching a hand to caress your cheek, “please let me explain.”
“No Simon… did you seriously think I’d welcome you back with open arms after you ended things, disappeared to fuck knows where, and popped right back expecting me to go along with you?… Simon, it really hurt… and I can’t let you in again…” gently maneuvering his hand away from your face only gave him the opportunity to grab your arm,
“Then explain to me all those calls. All those messages and voicemails you left me. Begging for an explanation. Pleading for me to reconsider… I thought you cared… or is it that you’ve become so ‘cold-hearted’ and had someone else?” Simon’s tone had a hint of anger and betrayal, but you couldn’t help but feel blinding heat for what he insinuated.
“You don’t get to pin this on me, Simon… I did care for you… but just out of the blue ending things… and not even explaining why… if anything, you are the reason why I’m so ‘cold-hearted’ because it felt like I died… you think I had time or energy to put myself out like that? Do you really think of me so low? No, I was being delusional the whole time hoping it was a nightmare…” at the sound of your true annoyance and being cross at him, Simon’s eyes widened just a fraction. His mind scrambling to try remedy the situation not only from hearing how upset you are but also hearing how your voice began to waver.
“Listen… darling… I messed up. I know I did. Even now I’m messing up… I’m sorry… I’m sorry for ending things how I did… I just… I wanted you to have a reason to hate me… to be with someone else… someone better.” Simon had taken to rub the wrist he had in his grasp, smoothing over your skin with the rough pad of his thumb, “… I was only trying to protect you from me… I really care for you…” his remorseful admission had brought out the frustration you thought you buried.
“No… no Simon… that’s not protecting me at all… I… I couldn’t eat… I couldn’t sleep. I still can’t… do you know how much I’ve gone mad thinking of any possible thing that I could’ve done for you to leave me?” The heat you felt earlier had now travelled to your face, concentrating on your cheeks and in your eyes, distorting your vision of Simon’s face staring at you intensely. You could only swallow a lump before continuing, “… I’ve always told myself it was stupid for people to give up on life when a partner leaves… but I was so close to ending it, Simon… I was so convinced that no one would ever love me…” despite the tears escaping and your voice warbling, you still look at Simon. Watching his reaction, his realization of what transpired in his absence, what could’ve happened. Simon’s stomach twisting in the familiar way when a mission takes an unexpected turn. Taking both of his hands to caress your face, attempting to wipe away the continuous flow of tears.
“Lovie… no, Lovie, no… don’t say that. Don’t say such things… I’d never let that happen… you know I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself… I’m so sorry, Lovie… I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you, I really am…” Simon’s internal panic has caused his heart to drop, “ I can’t imagine my life without you, Lovie… please, please Love… give me another chance. It won’t happen again. I promise.” Now your admission and reflection of what you’ve experienced had caused quiet sobs and hiccups to interrupt your breathing.
“… but it’s true!… I seriously thought I did something wrong!… or that something was wrong with me!… I was so alone!… I can’t- I can’t do this… I can’t trust you again!…” Simon releases your face in favor of wrapping his arms around you, to bring you in to him in an effort to hold you closer to his heart. Listening to the hurt in your voice that he caused. Simon rubbed his hands up and down your back, rocking the both of you back and forth, all the while listening to the muffled sounds of you being in pain.
“I’m so sorry, darling… I’m so so sorry.” He pulls away just enough to once again try to wipe away the tears from your warm cheeks, pressing kisses from your forehead across your eyes and all over your cheeks in an effort to stop the tears, “Please… please, you have to believe me. I love you with everything I am. I always have… Lovie, please don’t leave me…” Simon once again brought you into his embrace, holding onto you tightly as if you’ll break into pieces.
“… I can’t… I can’t… I can’t… because what if it happens again?…it hurt… I don’t wanna be hurt again…”
“Lovie, please don’t cry anymore… I won’t ever let you hurt again. I’ll take care of you. We promised we’d marry one day… don’t let this break us apart… I don’t want to live without you.” His words felt so sincere, the way he held you was so desperate. Seeing you being this hurt over him was another type of pain he was not familiar with. “I’m willing to do anything for you… all I ask is your forgiveness. Please Love… forgive me…”
“… yeah… that was what we promised… but you went ahead and left me anyways… I was the one abandoned, wondering what went wrong… I want to believe you… I really do… but I’d be a fool to trust you again…” eyes now red and puffy, yet still producing a steady stream of tears for Simon to continue wiping away.
“Darling… I understand… I know why you can’t believe me right now… but please… let me make it up to you…” with Simon now fully cradling you face in his hands, staring into you with a determination and resolve, “I’ll treat you better… I’ll treat you like royalty, like the most precious gem in the world… I’ll buy whatever you want, buy the most expensive jewelry… please, give me another chance, Love… call me ‘your Simon’ again…”
“… I don’t want to be treated like royalty… I don’t want the most expensive jewelry… all I wanted was you… that’s all I was happy with… I was perfectly happy knowing I had you…” those words truly broke Simon within. Knowing that he had ruined what was the best thing in his life. All because of his cowardice, he had caused pain to someone he loved. Listening to you cry because of him, because of what he’d done, he was willing to do anything to make you happy.
“Alright darling… I’ll give you what you want… you’re all I ever needed, so this is breaking me… if you won’t give me a chance as your lover… can I at least stay in your life as a friend?… I want you to be happy… and even if it means without me… I’ll do it.” Simon now grasped both of your hands and held it close to his heart, you could feel the strong beat of his heart within his chest. And as you looked at him through your wet lashes, you could see he was being sincere. That he meant what he said. That he was truthful in promising to do better, and that even if you didn’t want him in your life anymore that he would respect it. As much as you were trying to send him off, reject his appeals… you couldn’t help but feel hopeful for another try.
“… Simon… Simon… I forgive you… please, don’t leave me… I forgive you… but please don’t hurt me again… I won’t survive it… it hurt so much… so please don’t leave me again… if you don’t love me, just tell me… but don’t abandon me like that again…” you wrapped your arms around Simon’s neck, burying your face into the crook of it and tightening your hold on him. The sobs came once more, but as you felt Simon’s arms slide against you for an embrace, you felt a sense of calm.
“Shh… alright darling… shh… I won’t abandon you… never again, Lovie… I’m so sorry… I swear it won’t happen again… I love you so much…” Simon resumes rocking you back and forth while pulling away between words to press kisses over your face, “From now on, nothing will separate us… I’ll always be with you… I promise to keep you happy forever…” squeezing you tightly against him, Simon couldn’t help but to breathe in your scent. He heard your cries subsiding and all that remained were the sounds of your sniffles,
“… this better not happen again… I seriously couldn’t take it…” even pressed against him with your words muffled, Simon heard it loud and clear.
“It won’t happen again, darling… I love you… I love you so much… as long as I’m breathing, you’ll never cry over me… do you understand?” Simon pulls away to hold your face gentle within his hands, the face he dreams of and longs to kiss when he’s away, “My Lovie, may I kiss you?” And only when he asks that do you attempt to wipe away the mess of your face, carefully dabbing at your eyes and wiping away any nose drippings with your sleeve. Yet it’s still a sight that Simon loves, he hates that he’s made you cry like this but it’s brought a warmth to know that someone loves him this dearly.
“… I’m all covered in tears and snot, Simon…” your face warms as you feel the embarrassment of breaking down in front of Simon like that, yet you glance at him through your wet lashes only to find that he was staring the entire time. You felt his warm hands caress your face and noticed him bringing your foreheads together whilst letting out a quiet chuckle,
“Regardless, my love, you are still so beautiful and precious to me.” Not a single moment was wasted before you were pulled into a passionate kiss.
#tw sui implied#tw sui ideation#gender neutral reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#cod mwii x reader#cod mw2 x reader#simon riley angst
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⇝ shadow .
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.
PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.
SUMMARY: All Simon wants is to explain his disappearance to you, but he can't really expect you to be willing to listen.
WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Mentions of NSFW, Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications, Soft!Dad!Simon.
A/N: Second chapter!! Almost exactly a week after the first one LMAO. No smut in this one, I'm afraid, but some very fluffy moments between Simon and Tommy! <333 Once again, please reblog and comment if you enjoy this, it helps a lot!!!
WORD COUNT: 10k.
MASTERLIST.
Also on Ao3!
You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.
The grip you had on the door could rival that of a professional arm wrestler, your whole body stiff and frozen in place as your gaze locked onto Simon's.
Was it even Simon? His eyes didn't hold the same warmth it had the last time you'd seen him, his body wasn't as relaxed as it had felt beneath your touch, his whole frame covered in dark clothing that left his eyes as the only source of light that shone through that shadow of a man.
Well, you couldn't even consider them that, his blue orbs lacked that speck of light you'd grown accustomed to seeing in your son's; it left him looking like a ghost, a shell of a man. But maybe that was appropriate, he never did look like the kind of bloke you'd expect to be kind or sweet, he suited more the idea of a cold, ruthless man that had abandoned you and your son.
Even after having spent a night in his arms, felt the touch of his lips on your skin, memorised the feeling of his cock inside of you; he was still a stranger to you, a man you had idolised so much during the first days after your encounter that he had begun to form into someone completely different in your mind.
And now that he was in front of you, you knew. This wasn't the Simon from your dreams that held you in his arms, the Simon from your dreams that pressed kisses to your swollen belly whenever the baby would kick, the Simon from your dreams that hadn't left.
It was like a slap in the face.
One that brought you back to reality, that flushed away any daydream or idealised version you had of him from your mind, and forced you to focus on the man standing in front of you.
"You-"
"Did you keep it?"
As if you'd been sucker punched right in the gut, you felt the air leave your lungs, the words you had intended to speak sitting on the tip of your tongue like the bitter taste of black tea.
"It? Wh-"
"Him. Our son."
Our son.
It was funny, how he'd managed to say the two simple words that immediately made your blood boil in rage, tears forming at the corner of your eyes out of frustration as.
"Oh, so he's our son now?" You willed yourself to keep calm, but you couldn't help how your voice wavered when you spoke, this whole situation baring to be too much to handle along with your already declining mental state. "You didn't seem very interested before."
"I was gone."
"Oh, trust me, I know." You snarled, your harsh tone causing him to look away from you, whether it was in shock or fear, you didn't care. At least you couldn't feel small beneath his stare if he wasn't looking. "How long has it fucking been, Simon? A year. 9 months carrying your child and 3 months raising him. You have no fucking right to come knocking now and asking to see him."
"You don't understa-"
"I don't need to fucking understand, Simon!" You cried out, your voice ringing down the hall and in Ghost's ears, "I was alone! I am alone! I went through a terrifying pregnancy on my own because you couldn't bother to pick up the goddamn phone! Where were you when I needed you!? Where were you when the doctor told me that the birth might leave irreparable damage on my body!? Where were you when I almost lost him!?"
Silence filled the building, dull ringing in Ghost's ears from how loud you'd shouted, his gaze shifting up from the floor to you, his heart skipping a beat at your dishevelled state, your flushed face and tear stained cheeks, the hand that had been resting on the door now clenching your shirt right above your heart, as if the simple act of talking to him pained you to no end.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, Simon. Sorry doesn't make up for this past year, for all the fucking pain I went through while you were, what, ignoring me the whole time!? Waiting until an 'acceptable' time to show up and fucking demand to see him!?"
"I'm not demanding." You flinched as one of his hands came to slam onto the top of the door that separated the both of you, his hand clenching around the wood hard enough to break it, and you knew that if he wanted to, he could. "I'm asking. I'm asking to see him, for you to let me explain why I was gone."
Your lower lip quivered at the way he spoke, so calm and composed compared to you, who'd let your emotions take control of your words and had just
"I don't know what you went through. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand. And.. I'm, I'm sorry, that you were forced to go through it alone," The apology that slipped through his lips sounded almost forced, like it was his first time hearing and speaking the words out of his mouth. "I'm not here just to see him. I'm here because you deserve an explanation on why I wasn't here. And I know it won't take away the pain, but I ho-"
The door slammed shut.
Ghost was left outside of your apartment, hand still testing on the flimsy wood of your door, staring at the point where your eyes had been mere seconds ago.
You'd closed the door on him.
You'd ripped any chances he'd had of seeing his son and explaining himself to you in half.
He'd gone through his speech for hours in the car, making sure that he wouldn't come off as rude or mean to you, that everything was explained slowly and coherently, but you'd just… Closed the door on him.
It was a funny sight, really. A giant of a man standing in the corridor of a beat down building in the middle of Manchester, outwardly looking like a kicked puppy if it weren't for the fire that was burning inside of him, bubbling beneath his skin as he got the urge to rip the whole fucking door off just so would fucking listen to-
The door opened again, properly, this time. No little gap where he could barely see your full body, where you were able to hide from him in fear that he'd do something disastrous like he'd just been thinking of.
You were letting him in.
That much was obvious, by the way your shaking frame was glued to the wall of the small corridor, allowing him space to cross through into the apartment he'd spent the night in a year ago.
No words had to be spoken, the reluctant look on your face telling him more than enough.
The few steps he took to enter your apartment felt like crossing a border to another world, one that he couldn't recognise as much as he tried to think back to the last time he'd been there.
Everything had changed. The wallpaper with the flowers that reminded him of his grandma's old home had been striped, replaced with a more cool paint over; the dingy sofa where he'd ripped your tights open was replaced with a much more softer and plush looking model, one that could no doubt be pulled into a bed; the bookshelf he'd gotten the sticky notes from had been ridden of many of the books that had littered it, replaced with children's books and a few pictures, baby toys strewn across the floor in front of it.
It felt like a whole different place than what he remembered. He didn't know what he had expected, for you to have a child and for nothing to change? He was aware of the chaos that a child brought, remembering how annoyed he himself had been as everything started to change around him when his brother had been born, the need it brought to rearrange the whole house to accommodate the baby and not have any dangerous items lying around.
Ghost made a mental note to himself as he picked up one of the picture frames from next to the small telly to clean up his own house before bringing his son there (if he was even allowed to), recalling the dust and grime that covered the corners of his rooms, the glass shards from the last time he'd drunk and passed out on the sofa littering his floors.
You pushed the door closed behind you both, shaky hands pressing onto the cool wood in an attempt to ground yourself, trying not to focus on the silent yet imposing footsteps of your son's father.
You don't know what possessed you to open the door, to let him into your space, that he'd now taken over like a shadow. He looked so… out of place.
A demon along the angels, a ghost along the living.
His dark clothes contrasted heavily with the bright colours of your son's toys that laid strewn across the floor, with the soft colours your walls were painted in, with the colourful blankets that you'd tried spicing up the sofa with, despite no one being able to appreciate them other than you.
It didn't feel right.
It didn't feel right to have him here, walking around your home like he belonged there, like he'd been there all along. It was wrong.
You felt like you couldn't breathe, like your throat was closing off and preventing any air from reaching your lungs properly. Your nails dug into your own palms as you clenched your hands closed, trying your best to even out your breathing and focus on anything but the impending conversation you'd have to have with him.
You could hear him say something, but your brain was so caught up with trying to stop yourself from spiralling that it didn't even comprehend what he was saying. The balaclava over his face was moving, indicating that he was speaking, but not a single sound was reaching your ears.
Your body was trembling at this point, mouth gasping for air as your throat continued to constrict, your eyes going blurry with tears as you watched him come closer to you, mouth still moving.
"Breathe." Two hard hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor bordering on what you could easily identify as a panic attack, ones that you'd been prone to ever since you gave birth. "Look at me. Breathe."
Simon immediately knew what was happening without even having to look at you.
The laboured breaths that were leaving you were enough to activate the alarms in his head, recognising them immediately. He'd heard them many times before coming from him, his teammates, the people whose heads were pressed against his gun. You were spiralling, falling into the harming grasp of your anxiety and letting it infect your body.
When he got a panic attack, Simon rode through it. The therapist that Price had assigned him a few years ago had advised him to consider doing breathing exercises whenever he showed signs of having one, but during the year he'd seen her and the years to come, not once had he considered doing them. Sometimes, he felt like he deserved to feel like that, like he was suffocating, like his heart was about to be ripped out; for all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on others, he deserved to feel at least a sliver of it.
But the thought of letting you experience that same pain, the same panic, the same hopelessness he felt whenever he'd cave into his depression, it wasn't a good one.
So despite his initial lack of remembrance of the exercises his therapist had offered, he tried his best to talk you through it, hands grasping at your shoulders and squeezing every time he saw you start to slip away back into that pit of anxiety, keeping his eyes on yours through the whole thing, not letting you go until you'd stopped shaking and your breath had become even once again.
You'd been so focused on the anxiety coursing through your veins that you hadn't even realised who was helping you through it, blindlessly following orders and breathing along with him, your brain subconsciously recognising his voice as something to cling onto, to pull you out of your own plunging thoughts.
But as soon as you realised whose eyes you were gazing into, whose hands were holding you down, you panicked again. Your own hands came up to push him away, the action catching him off guard and making him take a few small steps back from you, eyes still fixed on yours.
"Are y-"
"Shut up." You breathed out, interrupting him for what seemed like the 100th time that night, mimicking him and taking a few steps away from him and wrapping your arms over your upper body. "Sit."
Ghost finally tore his stare away from you to look down at the sofa, hesitantly taking the first steps forward like a cat meeting its owner for the first time before finally taking a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush pillows thanks to his weight and looking around from the new perspective.
"Do you normally have panic attacks?" He spoke up, thankful that you didn't interrupt him this time, voicing his concern.
You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your fuzzy socks as you thought back to all the times you'd had to go through them on your own sitting at the doctor's office, lying in bed after putting Tommy to sleep, looking at yourself in the mirror after your labour…
Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.
"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."
He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.
The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.
"...so? Are you going to explain?"
Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.
But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.
He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.
"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"
"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."
His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?
"What do you work in?"
"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."
Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.
Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.
And it was terrifying.
You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.
You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.
"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.
"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."
You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.
"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.
"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.
"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"
You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.
"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."
You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.
"That doesn't explain why you were gone."
Silence.
The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.
"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.
"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."
"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.
"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.
"I'm not raising my vo-"
A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.
You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.
"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."
Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."
His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.
Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.
"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.
"I want to see him."
You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.
"You haven't even told me his name."
Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.
"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.
He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.
"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.
"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.
"You still don't believe me, d'you?"
A beat.
The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.
You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.
"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.
Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.
And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.
And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.
"They're real. I promise."
His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.
"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.
A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.
"...his name's Tommy."
You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.
"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"
"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.
Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.
God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.
His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.
"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."
And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.
And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.
"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.
Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.
"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."
Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.
"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.
"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.
Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.
For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.
Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.
Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.
So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).
"How d'you pay for all this?"
"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"
"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"
You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.
"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."
He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.
He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.
"Let me help you."
You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.
"Help me?"
Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.
But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.
"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."
Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.
Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.
You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.
"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."
He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.
"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"
Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.
"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."
God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.
So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.
And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.
"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.
"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"
"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."
Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.
"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.
Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.
"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.
"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.
"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."
"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.
Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.
"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.
"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"
"It's fine. I've slept worse."
He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.
That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.
Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.
And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.
And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.
Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.
Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.
But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.
"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.
You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.
This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.
He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.
"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."
Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.
Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.
A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.
A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.
"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"
As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.
"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"
He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.
But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.
Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.
He could… he could really get used to this.
Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.
He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.
"-mon."
"Simon!"
The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.
He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.
Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?
"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"
"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."
"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.
"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."
His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.
"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."
"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."
He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.
Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.
"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."
I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.
"Alright."
You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.
Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.
After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."
He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.
"O-okay."
He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."
You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.
You hoped it was the latter.
"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."
The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.
Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.
"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"
"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.
"Right, I'm s-"
"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."
"Well you can shut him up-"
"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"
"N-no, sir."
"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"
"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."
"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.
"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."
Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.
He'd be back. He promised.
TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @warrior-of-justice @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker (if your name is in italics it means I couldn't tag you!)
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x fem reader#ghost x female reader#cod mwii#call of duty#ghost x you#ghost fanfiction#ghost x fem!reader#ghost fic#cod mwii x reader#cw pregnancy#— ménage
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call off the dogs (and come home to me)
Pairing: John Price x gn!reader
Summary: You've quietly yearned after Captain John Price for a long time now, and known him even longer. With each stolen glance and interrupted moment the tension between you grows, but everything comes to a head when a mission gone wrong forces you to confront feelings that have gone unspoken for the better part of a decade.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, strong language, alcohol mention, drunk hookup, a little bit of torture + murder, fingering, porn with plot (smut should read gender neutral but let me know if any changes will make it more inclusive!!), mild angst, mutual pining with a happy ending
Word count: 3,940
A/N: My first foray into smut inspired by the incredibly talented @yeyinde!! Expect more Hound/Price content in the future bc I’m obsessed lol
--
“Hound,” a familiar voice startles you from the mountain of paperwork on your desk, “what are you still doing here?”
You raise a challenging brow at your captain. “Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”
This exchange has become familiar in the months you’ve spent grounded. Anyone else would take a bullet to the knee as a chance to slow down - switch careers entirely if they were smart - but you’re stubborn. A dog with a bone. Two surgeries and months of rehab that still aren’t finished, frankly you’re lucky to be walking. Luckier still that they let you stay on with the 141; There was a minute there that Laswell threatened you with an honourable discharge. A timely intervention with the physical therapist got you out of it, the only stipulation being that you remain firmly planted behind a desk until the doctors clear you. Having spent the better part of a lifetime hands-on in the field, it’s been hard not to overextend to prove your worth off of it.
So after-hours paperwork it is. At least the company is good.
“Touché,” Price huffs a laugh through his whiskers. “Fancy a cuppa? Sounds like we’ll both be here a while yet.”
“Have I told you lately you’re my favourite? Two sugars and--”
“--a splash of cream,” he finishes for you. The twinkle in his eye warms you right through, and you smile after him a little bit like an idiot.
It’s been like this ever since the domestic terrorism scare your team was called in on in Belfast what feels like a lifetime ago. He was only a lieutenant then, and you a sergeant. You were assigned to civilian extraction, but took off when you saw one of the primary suspects make a dash for it through side streets. Price saw you go for him and followed, the two of you giving chase on foot for three blocks before you managed to dive-tackle him in a back alley. It was a major success to take him alive, but your captain at the time wanted blood for the abandoned civilians. Price stood up for you in front of the entire regiment.
Took after ‘im like a bloody hellhound! he’d said. That deserves a medal, not disciplinary action.
Just over ten years later you’re still called Hound, and he’s still the subject of your silly, unattainable daydreams. Captain John Price is a name that means something, but to you he will always be the sergeant with fire in his eyes who stood up for you when no one else would. When he asked if you were interested in joining the 141 at its inception you didn’t even hesitate. You’d follow him anywhere.
“One tea, two sugars, splash of cream,” Price announces when he returns from the kitchenette with two steaming mugs to distract you from your thoughts. Yours is placed ceremoniously on an ARW coaster you ‘borrowed’ from your last commanding officer. “Now I believe you owe me something…?”
You grin and pull out your secret stash. The false bottom of the drawer is probably meant for sensitive intel, but you’ve found it’s perfect for biscuits. Three are placed in his outstretched hand, and three next to your mug.
“You’re lucky I’ve got a man on the inside who sends me these,” you scold as he scoffs one down almost immediately.
“Yeah, tell your granddad I said ‘thanks’.”
“I can’t. He’d disown me if he knew I was feeding a Brit.”
That earns you a laugh - a true belly laugh - and you can’t help but feel entirely smug about it.
“Fuckin’ Paddies.”
“Ah, go fuck yourself.”
A companionable silence blankets the room after that, broken only by the sound of shuffled papers and laptop keys. Soft lamplight illuminates your reports so unlike the harsh fluorescents everywhere else on base. You’ve done your best to make the regulation desk homey; bright sticky notes and colored pens and a picture of you and the lads after a successful mission. Occasional hums and huffs and heavy sighs from your captain’s desk across the room breathe life into the space as well. You like to think your incoherent, foul-mouthed muttering does the same for him.
The clock reads 0100 hours when you look up again. The caffeine from the tea wore off over an hour ago and you can feel yourself starting to fade. A quick peek over at Price reveals much the same.
You open your mouth to ask if he’s ready to tuck in when he looks up and steals the breath from your lungs. His short hair is mussed where he’s been running his hands through it, that hint of premature grey turned silver at his temples in the low light. Tired eyes crinkle fondly behind the lenses of reading glasses you haven’t stopped teasing him over but can’t get enough of. It’s achingly domestic. A glimpse into a future you’ll never have - not with anyone, and certainly not with him.
“What are you thinking about over there?” he asks softly.
“Nothing,” you flash a tired and unconvincing smile. “I’m knackered. Shall I close up shop or will you, Cap?”
“I’ve got it, you get some shut-eye.”
Your eyes linger just a bit too long as you bid him goodnight, knowing very well you won’t sleep a wink.
--
This pub is definitely one of the shittier ones, but its location is convenient enough to pretend that the wallpaper isn’t peeling and the live band of part-time musicians and full-time retirees is any good. The handful of covers they play are indistinguishable from originals sprinkled in, all with that same, washed-out sound of empty bottles and stale dreams.
The group of hooligans crowded up at the bar sit in stark contrast of the otherwise dour patrons. Even Ghost, who’s taken the corner seat and keeps a lazy watch over the room, is loose enough to be making those terrible jokes of his. Soap and Gaz lean over one another with goofy grins and half-empty glasses before them. Price, true to form, has taken the end seat to nurse a ‘proper pint’ alongside a lit cigar the bartender can’t dispute after lighting up what looks like at least his tenth cigarette of the night behind the bar.
“If it isn’t the Bionic Hound!” Gaz calls when he spots you across the poorly-lit room, waving you over with a grin.
You shake your head, wondering why you agreed to come out tonight. But the second Gaz had started with the puppy-dog eyes there was no denying him. Drinks before leave are a 141 tradition, he’d insisted.
So here you are.
“You’re lucky it’s a metal knee and not laser eyes or you’d be in yesterday’s papers,” you wag a finger at him as you take your seat amongst them all.
Ghost snorts a laugh at the empty threat.
“Oh, come off it, Hound,” Soap says. “You love us too much.”
Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t count on that.”
You glare and wrinkle your nose at the comment, but he just smiles back at you with that damned twinkle in his eye. Prick. Then he wordlessly slides over your usual and you have to be grateful on top of it all. Double prick. One swift gulp and half of it is gone; you’re too sober for this.
The lads cackle over another awful joke - Soap’s, this time. Price holds his temples.
The drinks go down easy after that.
“Any exciting plans for your leave, Cap?” you ask. It’s almost closing time now. This place is never full, anyway, but there’s enough alcohol in your system that you almost buy into the pretense of hearing him better as you edge further and further into his space.
You’re not sure what you want him to say, exactly. Maybe if he reveals that there’s a cute little family or some stunning girlfriend waiting back home you’ll finally be able to move past the strangled feeling in your throat every time you look at him.
“Hardly,” he says around the cigar. The soft glow of it lights his face, makes him look like some sharp-eyed noir detective shrouded in smoke and mystery. “Might get a bit of fishing in, head into Liverpool and catch a game or two. What about you?”
You wave a dismissive hand. “I make a terrible civilian. After I visit my grandfather and annoy him half to death I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe finally get some use out of those Egyptian cotton sheets I spent a bleedin’ fortune on.”
“Are they nice?” he laughs, leans closer.
You hum an affirmative, dizzy at the little space between you. He smells like tobacco and wood, whiskey and gunpowder.
“Too nice.” You should stop talking now. “End up on the floor half the time, anyway.”
He doesn’t need to know that.
“Sleeping alone, then?”
His breath fans your face. Yours gets quicker, and you swear you’re more drunk off this shared air than any liquor you’ve had tonight.
“Sometimes.” You wet your lips. “Usually.”
Your lashes leave tender butterfly kisses on your cheekbones as you meet his blue-eyed stare that’s gone impossibly dark, dipping down to see where your lips have parted - breathless, waiting. Wanting. His hand reaches out--
“Last call!” the bartender’s shout snaps everything back to reality.
You jump away from one another as though you’ve been burned. It feels a lot like you have.
Price clears his throat, mutters something about getting back. His voice is rougher than usual. Raw. You look everywhere but him as he proceeds to round up the rest of the lads before you all stumble back to base.
Your head pounds the whole way back to Ireland the next morning, marching drums in your mind and sandpaper beneath your eyelids. The flight has never felt lonelier.
--
The man you bring home has blue eyes and brown hair. He’s not tall enough, certainly not broad enough, but he happened to be in the right place at the right time as you drank your sorrows away in some tiny pub up the road from your flat, and you happen to be desperate enough not to care.
At least that’s what you tell yourself as you back him against your bed.
When you kiss him it’s relentless and controlling. Mean. You suck a dark bruise on his neck and climb in his lap before he can think to return the favor.
“Fuck, sweetness,” he groans at the sweet feeling of friction between your bodies. The accent is wrong. So is the endearment.
You clamp a hand over his mouth. “Shut up and fuck me.”
It’s a quick and sloppy affair, chasing a half-drunk high like a pair of horny teenagers. When all is said and done, you stare up at the ceiling on too-soft sheets and tell him he can go. He leans over to catch your eye briefly, maybe checking to see if you’re serious. You are. There’s hurt written across his expression - a bit of shock, too - but all you can think about is how his eyes are the wrong shade of blue.
--
The second the doctors clear you for active duty you all but sprint to Price’s desk, demanding he get you back in the field as soon as possible. He smiles up at you in that sharp way that always makes your heart stutter and promises he’s got something small in the works - perfect to shake the rust off.
Of course he’d think of an unsanctioned, off-the-books capture of a Russian mobster as small. You’re the only two who make the trip; your Russian is miles better than anyone else’s, and more bodies will only attract attention.
It’s easy to forget how beautiful Moscow is. You don’t come here often, but the sprawling cityscape and romantic spires speak to your soul, set something singing inside you. You try to hold on to that feeling as you and Price make your way into the chipped paint and piss-stained sector of the city. These winding side streets and twisted back alleys are far more fitting for your line of work.
Your mark, one Mikhail Yanovich, is a low-level enforcer for a high-interest gang that has connections to Makarov. Allegedly. That’s why you’re planning this friendly little chat. Not so much catch-and-release as catch-and-stage-a-believable-accident; if he really is involved, you can’t afford for Makarov to know you’re onto him.
It feels strange to walk around in civvies with only a thin kevlar vest underneath to protect you. Thank goodness for the cold that makes layering less conspicuous. You look every inch the lost, frozen tourist. Price does too. You don’t think the miserable face he’s pulling beneath the beanie is acting, cheeks and nose flushed raw as they are.
“Bloody cold out,” he mutters.
“The fuck did you expect, tropical holidays?”
He glowers, and you shake your head to hide a smile.
Thankfully, kidnapping Yanovich is quick work; two bickering tourists hardly seem like the type who will stick you with a needle on your way to work and drag your unconscious body to a stashed van, driving through bad, then worse neighborhoods to reach a secure location to interrogate you.
He wakes tied to a chair in the basement of an abandoned parking garage you and Price have taken up a temporary residence in. The captain circles him like a vulture, taking in all the details a broad frame and blockish features have to offer. You sit perched on the edge of a shitty folding table set just in the shadows. Patient. Waiting. There’s a case of freshly sharpened knives beside you - the Hound’s fangs, as Ghost likes to call them. So often the glinting threat of harsh light on metal is all it takes to break a man.
“What can you tell us about Makarov?” Price opens.
“Go fuck yourself.”
The blow lands harsh on Yanovich’s cheekbone. Instantly a bruise begins to form, splotchy and plum on pale skin.
“I asked you a bloody question. I promise you’d rather answer me than Hound over there,” Price looms over him, growls in his ear. “Makarov. Tell me everything you know.”
There’s a stubborn set to his jaw when he says, “I know nothing.”
If he really knew nothing he either would have laughed in your face or led with open ignorance. The way he clings to resistance can only mean there’s something to resist telling. As to how much he knows? There’s another echoing crack as Price backhands him.
You’ll soon find out.
“Hound,” your name on your captain’s tongue is as much a command as an invitation.
You lean forward, step into the light. Twirl one of your knives expertly between scarred fingers. Watch it flash in the whites of his eyes.
“I’ll ask you again: Where is Makarov?” Price demands.
“I. Don’t. Know.”
You step between Yanovich’s legs, lean over him and gently trace your blade over his groin with a smile sharper than the knife. He lets out a harsh breath.
“I said I don’t know. Boss tells me nothing - I’m just a guard.”
The knife presses, insistent. Not quite hard enough to draw blood yet. A bead of sweat rolls down Yanovich’s forehead. He’s pressed himself as far back into the chair as his bonds will allow.
“Fine! He comes to club once a month. Speaks to the boss.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know-- I swear!” his accent is thick with unfamiliar syllables and fear.
“When’s he due next?”
“You just missed him. He always comes last day of month.”
“Location?”
“Changes every time,” he says, licks his lips. “I told you all I know - call off your fucking dog!”
You dig your knife in for good measure just to watch the hate and fear in his eyes before backing off at Price’s nod.
Turning to step away and table your knife, you don’t miss the way Yanovich mutters darkly after you, “My zdes strelaem vie brodyachikh sobak, suki. Esli ya uviju tebya snova, the mertview.”
Then a gunshot fires.
You pull your weapon out of its holster and whip around to cover Price, only to find the smoking gun in his hand and Yanovich’s head splattered on the wall behind him. Captain John Price stands over the body, eyes blazing, chest heaving, gun still aimed. Blood and brain matter speckles his face and clothes.
“What the fuck was that?” you demand. “He could have told us more! And what about the cover-up? Blowing his brains six ways to fucking Sunday isn’t exactly a bleedin’ accident!”
You expect some kind of remorse when he turns to face you, but there’s only a grim, deadly acceptance. “He said--"
“I heard what he said, I can speak bloody Russian!” you stalk towards him and jab a finger into his chest. “We were gonna kill the cunt anyway. You should have waited.”
Price snarls, lip curling to bare his teeth. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you.”
Suddenly you’re hyperaware of how close the two of you are standing. “How did he look at me?”
“He wanted to kill you the slowest way he knew how,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin, “and I’d shoot his fucking face a thousand times over to make sure he never looks at you again.”
And just like that anything you were going to say dies in your throat, comes out a pathetic whimper. He grabs a fistful of your shirt and hauls you the rest of the short distance to him.
“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same,” he demands. “Tell me to stop.”
His hand burns on your chest, an iron-hot brand of possession.
“John,” you breathe, because you don���t know what else to say. The look in his eyes is magnetic, drawing you in further still with pupils blown wide with want. “Don’t stop.”
He kisses you rough, teeth and tongue and a certain kind of desperation brought on by the still-warm corpse lying just a few feet away. When you break for air he wastes no time kissing down your neck, every inch of exposed skin branded by his lips and the rough scrape of his beard. Yanovich’s blood smears down the column of your throat.
“Fuck, John,” you say, “just like that.”
“Sound so fucking perfect when you say my name,” he growls and bites down on your pulse point, leaving you gasping.
It’s enough to distract you from his true purpose, large hands cupping beneath your ass and scooping you up into his arms. You hold on tight as three purposeful strides take you across the room to the table. One sweep of his arm has everything tumbling off it before he sets you down to stare up at him with wide eyes and a kiss-swollen mouth.
When he captures your lips again it’s searing, molten heat rushing through your veins. It pools in your stomach, that too-hot wanting, and it suddenly hits you how much you do want this. Him. Each kiss tastes like so many years of silent longing, of standing too close and staring too long and wanting too much. All suddenly real and within reach.
You let your hands snake up his shirt, explore the broad plane of his chest and the wiry hair that curls over it. Your fingers run over scars like braille that tell stories of violence and valor. Some of these stories you helped write. There, beneath his ribs, where you had to stitch him up in the field to keep his guts from spilling into the streets of Vienna. The lump where his collarbone never healed right after taking the brunt of a nasty blow meant for you. He shivers under your touch. Then his large, calloused hands cover yours and stop them in their tracks.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, “because I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have to feel you.” His voice is even lower and rougher than usual, accent thick with arousal. “Do you want that?”
You nod, afraid to speak and break the spell.
“Come on, soldier, use your words.”
“Yes, Captain. Please.”
His grip on your hips tightens and he lets out a growl. “That’s my perfect soldier.”
It’s all the warning you get before he tucks his fingers under the waistband of your trousers and underwear and tugs them down to your thighs, leaving you exposed before him.
“Fuck, just look at you,” he says under his breath, almost like you aren’t meant to hear.
You squirm under the scrutiny. A hot flush creeps up your neck as he stares, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He looks at you like you’re some kind of revelation, like he’s been denied salvation all his life only to find it at the apex of your thighs.
One, two, then three fingers stretch you open for him quick and dirty. It’s too much too fast but you want it so bad, and the pleasure far outweighs any pain. When he finally unzips his trousers to free his already hard, leaking cock you think you drool a little bit. You knew he’d be big, the way he carries himself, but seeing it is something else. Your insides flutter at the thought of the tight fit. He lines up to your entrance with that same military precision you’ve always admired before pushing in slowly, slowly, slower still. When he bottoms out he does it with a deep groan, your fingernails raking down his back as you keen at the sensation. This small mercy, just a few moments to adjust with his forehead pressed to yours, is all you’re granted before he sets a brutal pace. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes off cracked concrete. With each thrust he hits someplace deep inside you no one else has managed to find.
Heat coils in your belly, closer and closer to fever pitch with each expert snap of his hips.
“John,” you pant, “m’gonna… gonna cum. Feels so good.”
He says your name like a prayer. “Cum for me, then. Want to see you make a mess of yourself on my cock.”
Like a tidal wave breaking against a dam you cum fast and hard at his words with a broken sob. He fucks you through the high, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye with a rough thumb.
“There you are, so good for me,” he says. “Gonna cum all over your pretty little self, make you mine.”
“I’m yours, John,” you gasp, “all yours.”
His thrusts turn sloppy chasing his own high, and it doesn’t take long before he pulls out and makes good on his words, covering your stomach in spend as he grinds out your name. Bent over your body, he presses a chaste kiss to the juncture of your neck before pulling back to admire his handiwork. In the afterglow you lay spread out on the table with a sheen of sweat, smeared with his cum and another man’s blood. The way his eyes darken rubbing it into your skin, and the way you shiver at the sensation, you think that you both might like it a little too much.
“Laswell’s gonna kill us for this,” he murmurs.
You hum your agreement. “So where shall we hide the body?”
His eyes shine down on you with adoration and crinkle with wicked humor. “I’m sure we’ll think of something, but let’s be quick about it. The sooner we get home the better.”
“Yes,” you hear yourself agreeing, “home.”
For you, it will always be at his side.
#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#fran writes#this fic came over me like a possession i have nothing to say for myself#cod x reader#cod mwii x reader
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Incorrect COD Quotes
Farmers' market
Soap and Ghost, watching Canary getting excited about going to the farmers' market: Oh, it's adorable!
Soap and Ghost, watching Canary run into her parents at the farmers' market: Oh, it's traumatized!
#this is a peek of what's coming tonight owo#incorrect cod quotes#cod incorrect quotes#incorrect quotes cod#ghost x reader x soap#ghost x reader#soap x reader#ghost x soap#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish#john soap mactavish x reader#cod mw2#cod mw2 x reader#cod mwii#cod mwii x reader
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Unwinding (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader)
Summary: After a particularly tough mission comes to a close, Ghost requests your immediate assistance - not as his subordinate, but as his partner.
AN: Got inspired by the things that I want but I’m still training myself to accept them when they happen. Plus *slaps Ghost* you can fit so much trauma in this bad boy. He deserves a bit of healing.
Reader is GN, referred to as Y/N a few times, established relationship with Ghost
Content warnings: Allusions to a bad mission and trauma, Ghost struggling with coping.
Masterlist // AO3 // Another Ghost fic I wrote
Your name: submit What is this?
“On me.”
That’s all Ghost’d said before stalking off out the briefing room. And, although every inch of you ached for bed, your eyes threatening to close, you followed sharply a few feet behind him.
From how he ordered you just now, you could tell his head was still on the battlefield. Even Ghost had issues severing himself from what he did out there sometimes. This mission had been arduous and weighed on the mind as much as the body. Everyone dealt with it in their own ways:
Gaz went for a run; Soap bench-pressed; Price smoked a cigar in his office; you listened to music, and Ghost did whatever he did in his room.
He hadn’t spoken to you about this sorta thing before. The guy was very private – just look at his mask and all the back-ups he has to avoid showing his face. So, as you rounded the corner that led towards the sleeping quarters and caught sight of Ghost leaving his bedroom door ajar, your trepidation took over. You weren’t scared of him. You were scared of letting him down, doing something that would cause him to retreat into himself after letting you in this moment.
You closed his door behind you; this part of him, you had been allowed to be a part of since last month. During that time, you’d learnt his rigid routine. Every evening, he would stack his equipment on his desk. He folded his clothes, even if it was going into the washing basket for laundry the next day. He’d barked at you once for attempting to lie down on his sheets before having a shower. He kept the mask on. Apart from the last night together where you’d woken to take a sip of water and seen the back of his head exposed. It took all your willpower not to reach out and stroke through his curls – half an inch overdue for a haircut. When you woke up next, it was quarter to six and the mask was back on as he kneaded out a knot in his back.
Those same hands were no longer steady and precise as he ripped off his helmet.
“Ghost?” You called out tentatively.
He didn’t answer. He continued to struggle with the vest’s buckle, failing to adjust the strap enough to free him.
You spoke firmer this time, “Ghost.”
Your Lieutenant grunted and gave up on the buckle. His restless hands tugged hard at the front of his vest instead. You removed your helmet and squatted to place it on the floor, beside the desk.
“Simon.”
That got him. His rattled ruckus faltered and he stopped fighting with his uniform. His ramrod spine held him in place, like a like a coil running a current throughout his body. You felt him watching you through his peripherals as you approached him, slowly and openly with your hands up.
“Here.” Let me help you.
With perseverance powered by sleep deprivation, you pried the accused buckle upwards. It came loose and its twin on the other strap followed suit.
Without looking in his eyes, you asked, “What do you need?”
“I need…” Ghost trailed off. Then he huffed and turned his head away whilst fidgeting with one of his skeletal gloves. You didn’t interrupt his thought process. Your feet took you back to give it some room.
“I need…” His knuckles cracked as he flexed them, “You.”
“I’m here.”
“No,” His eyes screwed shut, his head dropping in frustration. He gave his glove a harder tug.
“Take your time,” You reassured, sure to plant yourself in his line of sight.
“Don’t want to.” His teeth were gritted as he forced himself to speak, still without looking at you. “I need you, without all this” - and he gestured up and down his body - “In the way.”
You took inventory of what he’d indicated to: his thick vest carrying spare magazines and a variety of grenades, the thick raincoat that hid his other layers, the boots that had his trousers tucked into the laces, and (of course) the skull plate mask sewn into his balaclava.
“Ok,” You nodded, even with a devil on your shoulder telling you to just curl up on his bed and deal with this tomorrow. You choose to continue: “Can I help you get it off?”
A quieter grunt permitted you to remove the vest from his torso. It found a home on his desk, adjacent to his helmet. Removing the garments one by one, you hung up his coat on its peg and folded his jacket over the desk chair. When you faced him again, he’d rolled his mask up and bit his fingertip, yanking his glove off. He repeated the same with the other. His fingers were spread out in the cool air of his room, ready to hold onto whatever part of you they could find. But they were hesitating.
He broke into a swift march and began pacing the length of the room. His breathing heavily punctuated the boom of his boots against the floor. When he got like this, after being so stoic and calm on a mission, you knew not to press him - just guide, that's how he put it afterwards. It was like you were guiding him to make the right choices for him, when he couldn't. Trust to unwind him from this state to recover when he needed it.
Suddenly he was on the bed and yanked at his laces. His entire body jerked and groaned with the effort. Despite your sleep-deprived mind, you still had to restrain the urge to sprint to his aid. Your sluggish pace allowed his panic to trickle out into nothing when you knelt in front of him and begun weaving the intricate laces out of their tangled web. He watched you closely like you were his next target for a rapid knife throw.
His boots were paired at the end of the bed, ready to be polished tomorrow. His belt buckle was undone with the same knackered but patient hands; his own shifted his jeans down to his midthighs and hid his head in his hands whilst you did the rest.
“I don’t know why I can’t do it.” There was no growl, no underlying rasp that usually accompanied his speech. Just barely whispered words. “I want to. I do.”
“I know you do,” You replied, bundling the jeans into his washing basket. Why he wore denim on a mission, you had no clue and you wouldn’t question it now.
He continued his train of thought, “I want to hold you against me in our bed and sleep just like that.” His socks were off next and stretched over the rest of the dirty laundry. “I’m trying.”
You nodded again, feeling your weariness weighing down your forehead like a lead ball rolling about your skull. However, it was halted in place as Simon allowed his fingers to overlap yours once you’d sat beside him. That first hurdle was always the hardest; seeing him instigate it mad your heart leap into your throat. You didn’t speak - only watched - out of fear of bursting into loving (if exhausted) tears. Still, you struggled to hold them in when he pressed your fingers to his masked lips. Through the fabric, you felt his deep inhale, like he was trying to breathe in your very essence. You hoped the scent of his socks hadn’t stuck to you and wondered if he could feel your cool finger tips through the mask.
With a syrupy stare, Simon asked, “Will you take it off for me?”
“Of course.”
He kept your hand, held it daintily in his as you stood up and moved between his spread legs. Instead of letting you go, he placed his hands atop yours to follow as you gently rolled the balaclava up his neck.
You could feel the goosebumps spiking along his skin. Carefully, you lifted it out and over his chin. His breath fogged out of the fabric, into the space between you two. The plate was taken away from his face, defying all rumour and reputation that he was merely a phantom. Now, the face of the man you loved greeted your adoring gaze. You didn’t stare at one spot for too long, even though you wanted to more than anything. His cheeks, rosy as if they’d freshly fallen from the Tree of Knowledge, tempted you to take a bite. Instead you skilfully tossed the mask onto its usual spot.
With a sharp intake through his nose, Simon lurched forwards and locked his tree-trunk arms around your middle. You read him, like you always did, through his body – how it sagged against you, his spine curved over. Carefully, you rested your lips against his sweat-soaked hair.
You weren’t sure who was holding onto who the tightest. The deep pressure seemed to soothe Simon though. Even better, you felt like you could fall asleep like this and you’d be more than happy to do so.
Pushing him for a shower was probably not a good move – even though you both reeked. There was the risk of giving the impression you wanted him to let go, that you’d scare him off. This was vulnerable enough; you weren’t sure whether full-nudity ranked higher than taking his mask off.
But you knew how important his routine was to him.
You settled on saying, “What would you like to do?” It came out mumbled so it was good they emerged right beside his bat-like ears.
“I want to be clean and I want to hold you,” was his answer.
Clean, not “have a shower”; that was doable.
It took every ounce of willpower to slip out of his grip to get the packet of wet wipes you knew resided in his bedside table. Still, Simon held onto your hand and resumed his tight hold once you returned to him. He was ready, head tilted up, eyes shut. Soon enough, you could pick out his wispy white lashes that glinted in the low lamplight.
Whilst you mopped up the grime that had gathered beneath his balaclava, tears spiked in your eyes and pressure ballooned in your chest. Simon had kept his eyes closed the whole time. His thumbs were circling around your hips.
You cradled the back of his head to fish out the dirt in the crevices of his larger scars and the lines that formed by his eyes from squinting down a scope.
“There.”
When he looked at you, you could feel your gaze reflected in his eyes, his warmth mirroring what he saw in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
His finger and thumb gently pinched your chin. You welcomed his touch with a sigh and you finally gave your eyes permission for a moment’s rest.
“Y/N?”
Your eyebrows raised, though your eyes did not open, “Hmm?”
“Lie down with me?”
You moaned in relief, “Yes please.”
That loophole of doing things for others that are much more difficult to do for yourself, it was well and truly exploited as you let him mould your limbs around your clothes as he had done for you, everything besides your undershirt and underwear. Then he guided you to rest beside him.
“Sleep,” He said simply once you were both tucked under the blankets.
“Y’ok?”
“Hmm. Sleep.”
Once again, his giant hand caressed over your cheek. There was enough cognition in you to turn and kiss two of his rough fingertips before your head, filled with cement, sunk into the pillow. His chapped lips against your forehead were your last point of call as you drifted off to sleep.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley fanfic#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley imagine#cod x you#cod mwii fanfic#cod mw2 fanfic#cod mw2 x reader#cod mwii x reader#r: gn#wc: <2k#my writing
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imagine ghost holding you tight after a long mission. a dangerous one at that.
his strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you off the ground. his nose pushed into your neck, inhaling your scent. not in a weird way, but a comforting way. you smelled like home, which was something that simon had never fully had in his life until he had met you.
your arms wrapped around his neck as you played with his hair by the nape of his neck. you feel him smile at your touch, his arms somehow tightening around your waist.
one hand reached toward your thighs and pulls them around his waist to fully hold you to him. your legs instinctively tighten as one hand rests on your waist and the other on your butt.
“i missed you so much, baby.” you speak softly in his ear.
“‘missed you too lovie, so much.” you can hear his voice crack mid sentence. tears spill out of his eyes and onto your shoulder. simon always had a house, but now he fully had a home.
(pulled this out of my ass in 5 minutes, enjoy)
#cod mwii x reader#call of duty x reader#kibble writes cod#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#simon ghost riley x reader#cod ghost#ghost x reader
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