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#ghost fic
thesunhatesme · 3 days
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Cooking together
Phantom/Swiss Wc: 1.1k Summary: Just Swiss helping Phantom overcome his fear of trying new things
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“Okay, what should we try today?” Swiss asked while getting the aprons out. He and Phantom had been cooking a meal together every week for a while now to help him overcome his fear of trying new things, and it seemed to help.
“Can we do this one?” phantom asked, holding up the recipe book and trying to point at the recipe he wanted.
Swiss turned around and leaned his head to the side, “Are you sure you want to try a fish soup with saffron in it?” He was met with silence and a confused look, “You don't like fish very much and saffron has a very strong taste”
Phantom looked at what he was pointing at and quickly moved his finger to point at the other page, “Oh, I meant to point at this” he said as he pointed at the mac`N cheese recipe.
“We cooked that last week, don't you want to try something different?” Swiss pointed out
“And I liked it, I want it again” Phantom replied, with a slight pout.
“How about this, we make the pasta ourselves this time and try it with another sauce?” he suggested while tying an apron around Phantom's waist.
“You can make your own pasta?” Phantom gasped, did it not just come in a box from the supermarket?
“Yeah, it's quite easy actually” Swiss chuckled, “Lets try it”
They started getting all the ingredients out for the pasta and measuring them up in bowls. Swiss instructed Phantom on what to do and why, and Phantom listened closely and did his absolute best to follow. Swiss took over after a bit since Phantom thought it was too tough and continued kneading the dough till it was done. Phantom wrapped it in plastic wrap and then put it in the fridge.
“Now we're going to boil the tomatoes so that we can peel off the skin,” Swiss explained, while putting them in the pot with boiling water. Phantom made sure to put on a timer, so that they wouldn't forget about them, since none of them were very good at keeping track of time. Phantom started peeling the onions and Swiss helped him cut them up. When the timer rang, they put the tomatoes in some ice cold water and Phantom started peeling and cutting up the tomatoes while Swiss started frying the onions.
“Okay, let's see what the next step is…” Swiss muttered to himself while reading the recipe, leaning against the counter, “Time to start mixing everything together” Phantom read over Swiss shoulder, dangling his feet from the counter.
“Yes, good job Bug” Swiss praised as he helped Phantom down from the counter. They measured up all the ingredients and herbs and put the tomatoes in the pot.
“Do we have to add all those spices?” Phantom asked. Swiss wasn't surprised at that, he knew Phantom was quite hesitant towards spices and anything that had a lot of flavor in general.
“We don't have to, but it tastes better with them” Phantom still wasn't convinced, they had a very strong smell, and he'd learnt that if something had a strong smell, the taste was probably quite strong too, at least that was the case with spices.
“How about… we only add half the amount, and if you don't like it, we'll remember that next time.” Swiss suggested.
He stayed quiet for a moment, thinking about it, but then hesitantly agreed with Swiss.
“Look at you trying all this new stuff, making me so proud, Lovebug,” Mountain said from the doorway. He'd been on his way to take a shower after being in the greenhouse for a while, but couldn't resist the smell and had to check it out. 
“Hey Mount, we're making pasta and tomato sauce!” Phantom told him excitedly and almost poured the spices besides the pot. “You can try it when it's done if you want”
“Well I can't say no to that can I, it smells wonderful”, “Let me go take a shower and freshen up a bit and I'll taste when you're done” Mountain said as he started making his way to the shower. If this was just a couple of months ago, Phantom would never have agreed to adding those spices he thought to himself, it made him happy to see phantom overcome his fear.
Swiss pulled out the pasta machine and explained how it worked to Phantom while they unwrapped the dough. Phantom started turning the handle while Swiss held the dough and soon enough they had a bunch of spaghetti.
They started cooking the spaghetti and mixed the sauce in a mixer because Phantom refused to even taste anything with lumps in it. They set the table and started cleaning up a bit.
Mountain knocked on the doorframe to make his presence known and everyone sat down while Swiss served the food. 
“Would you like to try just the pasta first or both pasta and sauce?”
“Pasta and with the sauce on the side not touching each other”
He tried the pasta and it was actually better than the pasta you buy at the store.
“Do you want to try the sauce too?” Swiss asked, putting his hand on his shoulder.
"I'm not sure, the herbs had a strong smell” Phantom said, looking down in his lap, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves.
“If you don't like it, that's okay, we're not gonna make you eat it” Swiss encouraged him, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly.
“If you don't want it, I'll happily eat it for you, this is the best sauce I've ever tasted” Mountain chimed in, taking a mouthful of pasta and sauce.
“You really think so?” Phantom asked as he looked up at mountain
“Mhm, this is amazing” He said with his mouth full of food.
He brought the spoon up to his mouth, hesitating a bit but the other two ghouls kept on encouraging him, so he put it in his mouth and tried it. He thought about it for a while but decided that it was actually quite okay, he could eat this, still not better than mac`n cheese but still okay. “It wasn't that bad actually”. He stated and Swiss hugged him from the side, telling him how proud he was. 
They finished their meal and started cleaning up. There was a little food left so Phantom decided to put it in a container and bring it to Copia, who of course, loved it. The three ghouls ended up staying for tea in Copias office for a while, but then eventually going back to the den to crash in front of the TV and start watching a movie, that they all would end up falling asleep to.
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There's Such a Sad Love (Deep in Your Eyes) - Chap 3
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Eddie’s gonna kill him.
Not even exaggerating, he’s gonna kill Steve dead.
How hard is it to wake the fuck up? His dumb flat phone has been ringing for the last three hours!
…Okay, fine.. Eddie doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been ringing, but when you’re used to head-achingly constant quiet, any interruption becomes a nuisance immediately.
“Hello?”
“Fucking finally.” Eddie grumbles when Steve finally stirs enough to answer the phone.
“I’m sorry?” Steve says to the person on the other end of the line.
“I forgive you.” he grouses.
“No, no, I got that, but you were supposed to be here tomorrow, not today!” he struggles off the sagging air mattress and into his jeans, not even bothering to button them.
“Shit, shit, okay, yep, I’ll be here, I’ll—” His voice gets louder “Yes! Deliver! I’ll be here! Alright, bye.” 
He tosses the phone onto the sagging mattress and scrubs his face with his palms, mumbling “Stupid fucking phone signal..”
Eddie follows Steve out the bedroom door and down the stairs into the kitchen.
He smiles to himself when Steve stops in the doorway; He’d worked all night to get the damn cabinets open again.
“Good morning, Mr. Ghost… Ms. Ghost? Ghost Friend.” is what he finally lands on, unfreezing from the doorway and grabbing a can of something from the fridge.
Eddie breezes past him a bit too close, just barely brushing against him. Steve shudders against the chill. “I’m not sure if that’s a ‘Hello’ or a ‘Get the fuck out of here’.”
In response, Eddie pushes the sleep-mussed fringe of his bangs back off his forehead.
Steve smiles. “Hello...” Then he seems to remember something, “Oh, hey, the delivery guys are coming with my stuff soon.” He pauses a moment, “I’m guessing you’re gonna try something, but can you please not cause any injuries at least? I don’t want any more ghost-y roommates.”
“Aw man, but I do!” Eddie groans.
Steve tilts his head to listen to the quiet of the house for a few seconds, then calls out again. “Can you make some sort of noise so I know you aren’t gonna kill anyone?”
Eddie rolls his nonexistent eyes, “Sure, handsome, anything for you,” and knocks his knuckles on the open cabinet door beside Steve’s head.
Steve startles at the noise, “Jesus fuck! I’d also like to not die today, thanks.” he says, adding on a grumbled “Give me a damn heart attack, why don’tcha..” as he starts back toward the front of the house.
A laugh escapes him and Steve falters, stopping a couple steps away and turning back toward the kitchen.
If his word meant anything, he’d swear that Steve looks right at him.
His laughter stutters to a stop, and Steve shakes his head minutely as if to shake off a thought.
‘Did he hear me laughing?’
“....No, he couldn’t have, it’s way too early..” Eddie answers himself.
He watches until Steve’s out of sight, then floats through the hallway wall and into the closet under the stairs.
It’s one of Eddie’s favorite places in the house; small and quiet, and the place he feels most..solid (the most real?)..no matter what time of year it is. It gives him time to breathe, ironically, and no matter how untethered he might feel after Halloween, he feels like himself again here.
He’s done some long, complicated ciphering about why over the years, and he thinks the stairs and closet are positioned right over where his bedroom used to be in his and Wayne's trailer. He can get his thoughts together here, can think the clearest.
There's some commotion from outside his closet, so Eddie pops his head through the door to watch Steve and the moving company travel back and forth between the front door and the rest of the house.
Looks like he was in the closet longer than he thought (There’s definitely a gay joke here somewhere, Eddie thinks to himself), the hired team of movers are here and already carting in boxes and pieces of furniture.
Steve is helping the movers for some reason, carrying boxes further into the house, and Eddie finds his way back to the man’s side without even thinking about it.
Suddenly, Steve yells, “Nope! I have to do some work on the place, so everything but the bedframe and mattress can go in here!” in response to some question Eddie hadn’t heard. “The master is up the stairs, last door on the right. That one big dresser with the mirror can go there, too.”
“Hope you have some help lined up after they leave, pretty boy. You know I can’t help you.”
“I think I do, actually. Some kids already asked to help with the house anyway, so.”
“...What?”
“What?” one of the movers echoes.
Steve sets down the box he was carrying (‘clothes’ according to the large marker letters on one side) and turns back to the mover, confused. “I’ll have help to move it all again after I’m done with the remodels.”
“That’s..great man, good for you.” he says, equally confused.
Eddie’s frozen. “Okay, what the fuck.”
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Steve can’t help but help the movers; he carries in some of the unimportant boxes, and grabs up the important ones he’d labeled when he packed up everything. Which was also something he couldn’t help but do even though the company he hired would pack and unpack his things as part of the cost anyway.
One of the five man team asks him about putting his furniture in their respective rooms, at least.
“Nope! I have to do some work on the place, so everything but the bedframe and mattress can go in here!” he calls back, carrying the couple of boxes of clothes in his arms into the foyer to the right of the front door, “The master is up the stairs, last door on the right. That one big dresser with the mirror can go there, too.” he calls over his shoulder
“Hope you have some help lined up after they leave, pretty boy. You know I can’t hel...”
Steve huffs in irritation, why are they trying to talk to him while walking away? “I think I do, actually. Some kids already asked to help with the house anyway, so.” he calls back to where the voice seemed to be retreating to.
“What?” the mover asks, sounding closer again.
Steve sets down the box of clothes he carried in, and turns back to the man who’s looking at him like he’s grown another head. “I’ll have help to move it all again after I’m done with the remodels.”
“That’s..great man, good for you.”
“You’re the one who asked..” Steve grumbles to himself when the guy walks back out to the truck.
There’s not much in the moving truck, so while the team is bringing in the larger pieces, he borrows one of them to help him empty his little trailer so he can take it back that afternoon.
The crew is done within the hour, and Steve sees them off, following them down the drive and turning to head into town. He stops in at the deli across from Melvald’s for lunch, and heads into the one internet provider’s office in town to set up his services (which was as easy as flipping the proverbial switch to turn them on, very nice), then heads to the hardware store because of course there wasn’t already a washer and dryer in the house.
Getting delivery scheduled for his new washer and dryer ends up taking forever, and it’s already late afternoon by time he’s done, so Steve heads back out to the big box store for groceries, heads home to eat Joyce's leftovers, showers, puts some sheets on his bed, then (finally) calls Robin..
“Finally got interwebs hooked up?” her forehead says in lieu of a ‘Hello?’ (that’s the only thing he can see on his screen at the moment).
“Yep, didn’t take too long, luckily, and good news for me: apparently the people who built this place decided to put in fiber cords? Which is really good I guess?” he says, flopping down onto his mattress on his stomach.
“Uh, yeah, that’s real good Dingus; Fiber is still one of the better things for internet connections, so congrats! You lucked out.”
“Then the guy at the hardware store took forever to schedule my laundry shit to be delivered, so I’m out a washer and dryer until next week. Yay.” he deadpans to her forehead (still the only thing he can see).
“But you’re settled in better now, right? At least now you can get started on that DIY board you’ve been hoarding onto since you first saw the place.”
“That's true, that’s true,” he concedes, swapping his video call app out for the one that holds all his inspiration boards, “This place is going to be amazing once I’m done with it.”
“I thought you already thought it was amazing.”
“No, no, it is..it’s just..” he pauses, scrolling down the hundreds of ideas he’d saved for just this moment…all of them not quite right. Even the simplest color palettes he’d liked look drab and boring when he thinks about actually using any of them on the house.
“None of it fits anymore, does it.”
Steve snorts out a laugh, “None! How is that even possible? What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“What indeed..how in the world are you supposed to start changing things if you don’t even know what color paint your ghost roomie likes? What if they start haunting you even more after you paint the dining room sage instead of mustard??”
“Right?! He likes metal music for fucks sake, I can’t paint my whole house red and black or whatever just so he doesn’t haunt the fuck outta me!”
Robin’s silent for a moment, then “Wait, backup. One, how do you know he likes metal music, and two, ‘he’? How do you know it’s a ‘he’?”
“Oh my god! So much has happened, listen,” Steve explains everything to her, shifting onto his back as he does.
He tells her about the kids (“You better take them up on the offer, Dingus, that’s a lot of help.”), the girl Max who said “He likes metal music.”, the way his speaker turned down on its own when he asked ‘Jeeves’ to, the damn acknowledging knock he’d heard when Steve asked the entity not to hurt any of the movers as they brought in all his stuff.. All of it.
“I even heard a laugh, Robin. A goddamn laugh! It’s definitely a ghost.”
“Okay. Yep. That’s it, I’m never coming to visit. Mm-mph. Nope. No way.”
“Oh yeah, and the Hawkins Chief of Police said it might be a murderer!”
“Ah! What?! Steve. Steven. Steeb. You need to move. Pack up all your shit and get the fuck back here.”
He only partially heard her; Now he’s focusing on trying to look up any murders here in Hawkins over the years.
“Are you listening to me, Dingus?”
“Huh–yeah, yeah of course I am.”
“No you’re not, I can see you thinking.” Steve hears her type something into her phone. “The Creel murders, a death by rabid dog, death to cancer…”
“Are you reading the same things I am?”
“...No?”
“Uh huh, sure–ah ha! Listen, listen, listen,” Steve exclaims, sitting up and crossing his legs in the middle of his bed. “‘Hawkins High cheerleader, 18, found deceased at Forest Hills trailer park. Authorities say she was found by a resident of the park along with another body late on the night of the 31st. There is no further information at this time.’.”
“....Holy shit..holy shit..Ah! Okay, I found some more, Halloween, 1986... Uh….” she trails off, mumbling along as she reads. “This one says it’s called the ‘Forest Hills Murder’, and that there was, quote, ‘one suspect, two bodies, and conviction for one count of second degree murder.’.”
“Second degree?”
“Means that it wasn’t planned beforehand.”
Steve hums in understanding, continuing to scroll. “Why are there no names! I want to know who my ghost is, dammit!”
“Maybe…you should go to the library? Does Hawkins have a library? Maybe they’ll have old papers or something.”
“Yeah, it’s basically smack dab in the center of town....Do you think I should go to the library?”
“I think you should go to the library.”
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That night, Steve once again dreams of that vast black place. He opens his eyes to it, and instead of being scared like last time, he’s somehow…comforted by it. 
The loud splash of water that comes from his right, however, makes him jump.
“Hi!” the girl with the ponytail says, bouncing to a stop in front of him.
“Uh, hi? I saw you last time, I think…Who are you?”
“I’m Chrissy!” she grins, her smile bright yet slightly crooked.
“Hi Chrissy, I’m Steve, uhm…what the hell is going on? Why are you in my dream?”
“I assume it’s because I died at Forest Hills.” She shrugs, as if it was the most benign news in the world.
Steve blinks at her in the darkness, takes in her uniform– “Oh my god, you’re the cheerleader who died! Are you–are you my ghost?” It’d be a surprise if Chrissy was a metal fan, but who’s he to judge? Maybe Max got the ghosts’ pronouns wrong? 
Chrissy waves him off with a laugh, “Oh, no, I’m not,”
“Wait, are they the one who killed you? I better not be living with a murderer ghost..”
She looks appalled at that, “Absolutely not! Where on earth did you even get that idea?”
“I’ve only read a little bit about the–your case so far, and all it said was that there were two bodies.” Steve scratches at the back of his neck nervously. What kind of protocol is there for talking to a dead girl about her death? “Rumor has it that the second one was the person who killed you. That your boyfriend killed him right after…?”
The cheerleader is silent, gazing at him sadly. 
“His name is Eddie.”
There’s a pull in Steve’s gut at the name. 
“Who’s name, your murderer? Your boyfriend?” She’s fading into the darkness that surrounds them, and Steve knows he must be waking up. “Please, tell me!”
Chrissy’s mouth moves, but Steve’s already falling out of his dream.
Groggily, he reaches for his phone, 6:04am. 
He huffs as he flops back against his pillows, but freezes in the next moment.
Out the door to his bedroom from where he’s laying, he can see part way down the hall and the last half of the staircase where it comes up to the second floor.
And what he sees glide up the steps onto the landing out of sight is what freezes him to his spot.
It was barely there, but there nonetheless. A shadow, just dark enough to be seen in the low light of the morning, the dark of it standing out against the pale cream of the wall next to the steps.
His heart hammers in his chest, his brain screaming ‘Holy shit, holy shit, he IS real, oh my god there’s a real life ghost in my house.’ at him (Wait, duh. You already knew this?? You heard the speaker lower on its own, you felt that cold breeze, heard that laugh?? He thinks, his thoughts rambling on without him.) when the shadow reappears, drifting into view in his doorway and it itself freezing under Steve’s gaze.
The shadow is still only just barely visible; not freakishly tall, Steve figures it’s about his own height, actually, and the edges of it flicker and move.
Heart still pounding, Steve speaks, his voice coming out in barely a whisper. “Eddie?”
As soon as the name is out of his mouth, the shadow disappears, looking both like it was swept away by an invisible breeze, and as if it dropped straight into the floor.
“Holy shit!”
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After throwing together a whole two pieces of toast for breakfast, and leaving the strips of color he thought to pick up while at the hardware store out for his roommate with a note, Steve takes himself and the name Eddie with him to Hawkins Public Library.
His hopes of scouring old newspapers and records seem at least ten times more likely when he steps over the threshold and immediately feels like sneezing at the smell of the dusty old books around him.
He steps up to the front counter, “Good morning Mrs….” Steve leans in closer to read her name tag; ‘Claudia Henderson - she/her!’ is printed onto the plastic tag in permanent marker and punctuated with a fading yellow smiley face sticker “…Henderson—Henderson? Why does that sound familiar?”
“I’m not sure, hon–”
“HEY MOM!”
They both startle at the sudden yell, turning towards the noise; Dustin, that kid with the cap that had harassed him on his driveway yesterday, is running towards the front counter. 
‘Ah. Henderson.’
Mrs. Henderson tsks at her son, “Dustybuns, this is a library! Use your inside voice.” 
“Where’s th–Steve!”
Steve smiles at the kid, “Hey bud,”
“What’re you doing here?” he questions, then his face brightens exponentially. “Are you looking for stuff about ghosts?”
“Dusty, you know better than to ask that,” she chides, “What people are looking for at the library is no one’s business but their own.”
Dustin, however, chooses to ignore this. “It’s ghosts, isn’t it? Hang on, I know of a couple books that might help you!” 
Both Steve and Claudia attempt to stop him, “Dusty, wait—!”, “No, I’m oka—”, but Dustin’s already disappearing between two tall shelves.
“Damn, he’s quick.”
Claudia sighs, “I’m sorry about him, hon, he just gets super excited about whatever thing he’s fixated on at the moment.”
“It’s alright, Ms. Henderson, I know he means well.” Steve says with a smile.
“Well, let’s get you settled then, you need a library card, I assume?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She gets him set up with a card (‘Harrington? Oh, you must be Patty’s grandson! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you; your gran and I were in the same knitting club, you know.”), then points out an empty table by one of the front windows he can use if he’d like. Where each section is, what their return policy is and about the book reserve program, then finishes with a warm “Let me know if you need any help, Steve dear.”
“Actually, can you tell me where you keep your newspapers?”
She hmms thoughtfully for a moment, “Well, that depends on if you want the actual papers, or if you would like to scroll through them on the microfilm…what are you looking for, exactly?”
“I’m looking for information on the house I just bought? I’ve been told there was a death on the property previously and I wanted to look into it if I could. Library seemed like the best bet.”
“Oh, that’s just terrible! Sure, hon, let's get you set up at one of our machines and you can scroll through whatever year you’re looking for,” she beckons him to follow to another long row of desks. There are a couple other people with name tags like Claudia’s sitting at the computers behind it. “Do you have a timeframe?”
“Mid-80s I think?”
“Let me see what I can find for you,” Claudia nods, sitting down at a large white machine.
She shows him how to operate the clunky device, then disappears through a ‘Staff Only’ door.
Steve’s alone at the machine for five whole seconds before Dustin finds him.
“There you are! Okay, here, these are my favorites on the subject,” he hands him a small stack of books with mostly dark covers, one even has a lenticular image of a fanged skull, “These are a couple that are more fanatical,” two more are added to the pile, “and these two are more scientific in nature.”
He keeps ahold of the last two, stepping to the side to reach for and slide a chair from another machine next to Steve’s. “Are they a poltergeist too?  Are you trying to get rid of them? If so, I’ll need to pull some material on exorcisms too. Do you know why they would be sticking around? We need to figure out what their unfinished business might b—”
“Dustin! Dude!” Steve cuts him off with a laugh, “What happened to “Hey Steve.”, “Didja get unpacked already?”, “How’re your projects coming along, Steve?”...I just got here, my guy, lemme breathe for a second.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, “Did you figure out what colors your ghost likes?”
Steve rolls his eyes, “No, not yet. I put some out for him, so we’ll see if he decides to get rid of any.”
Claudia returns then, “Okay, here you are, sweetheart—Dusty! What’d I tell you about bothering Steve!”
“I’m not bothering him!” Dustin complains at the same time Steve says, “It’s been non-stop.”
The kid shoves at Steve’s shoulder, “Dude, shut up!”
He mimes nearly falling off his chair, “Do you see this, Ms. Henderson? I am being harassed in a public library.” he manages to say before breaking out into a grin.
“Shut up, asshole!” Dustin laughs.
“You shut up, buttface.”
“Okay, okay, settle down you two, Now Steve, do you have anywhere we can start? A date?” Claudia asks, loading up the first film in her small stack.
“I have one,” Steve nods, giving Dustin a final playful shove and reaching into his back pocket. “This article I found about the trailer park that used to be there?” He shows her his phone, open to the article from last night.
She scans it, then nods, scrolling on through the first film. “I say we check obituaries first, see if anyone sticks out? Then we can try birth announcements.”
“Would they have had an announcement printed if he was a murderer though?”
She looks at her son curiously.
“What?”
“Dustin is convinced there is a ghost on the property from the death there,” Steve explains as if he doesn’t already believe it himself, “And apparently the stories of the place include a possible murderer.”
“That’s why we need to figure out who it was so we can get him outta Steve’s house!”
“Well…” she gives them both another odd look, “Everybody has someone; this person’s someone may have had them printed as well.”
The first film ends up being the one they needed, for Chrissy at least.
“Here’s your cheerleader, Steve.” Claudia gestures to the machine’s screen. Half the front page of the Hawkins Post from November 1st, 1986 is dedicated to her. 
The crooked smile, the bangs, the ponytail. “That’s her alright. It’s gotta be.”
Dustin squished in from Steve’s left to read the tiny text. “‘Chrissy Cunningham, 18, was found dead early this morning by local 440 chapter president Wayne Munson at his home in the Forest Hills mobile home park.”
“‘Wayne Munson.’, Who’s Wayne Munson?”
“Not sure, but he’s involved somehow. Write that down.”
“‘Police say they have one of two suspects in custody, the other was found dead alongside Ms. Cunningham.’.”
“That’s gotta be the ones, remember? She died and the boyfriend found the guy right after!”
From there, it’s easy to find the information for one Jason Carver.
“Is he the guy?” Dustin squints closer at the small yearbook picture. “Wait, if he’s the boyfriend, then he’s the murderer! Then who’s this other guy…?”
“What about Eddie, is there anything about anyone with that name?” Both Hendersons give Steve curious looks, “I was given that name from…a reliable source.” Very reliable. 
“Why don’t we go back to that Wayne fella,” Claudia says, standing from the machine to move behind a computer nearby. “If it was his trailer she was found in, maybe the other person has something to do with him?”
She clicks into her computer and starts to type at an alarming rate.
Steve glances over to Dustin, who’s wearing a bewildered look. He turns around in his chair, “Thanks for helping with this, Ms. Henderson.”
“Yeah mom, I didn’t know you would be this interested in something like this.”
“Oh pshh,” she scoffs, “Who doesn’t love a good mystery? Now, read off that last name again?”
“Munson, M-U-N-S-O-N.”
“Let’s see…says here that Wayne was President of our Local 440 branch until…oh, 1986.”
“What’s that?” Steve and Dustin ask in tandem.
“The 440 is the local union! Some of those guys come through here twice a month for their book club.”
Steve takes the name to his phone, typing in ‘wayne munson + indiana’. “‘New UA President Elected!’, obituary, oh! There’s a birth here…and it has a paywall.”
Claudia rolls her eyes and mutters a low “Of course,” then louder, “Let's find it here then, what’s the date?”
He gives her the date, a Friday in mid June 1966, and she sets up the corresponding microfilm roll, scrolling into the birth announcements.
“Ah, here it is: ‘Beloved former Miss Indiana and Hawkins native Elizabeth Munson (ne’ Johnson) and husband Albert Munson welcomed a bouncing baby boy to the world this past Saturday. ‘I am just plumb overjoyed,’ Wayne Munson, Al’s older brother and well-known face of Hawkins’ local branch of UA 440 said Saturday evening. Both mother and little Theodore Munson are happy and healthy after their short hospital stay.’. That’s just lovely, I didn’t know Hawkins had a Miss Indiana!” 
“But that’s Theodore though, not Eddie. Did she have any other kids?”
“Uhhh..” Steve draws out, typing ‘elizabeth munson miss indiana’ into his phone. “No, just the one son apparently..” He reads further, “Says she died in 1974 due to ovarian cancer.”
“Damn.”
“Poor Teddy..”
“Teddy?”
“Well sure, short for Theodore?” Claudia tsks sympathetically, “He was so young when she died..”
“Poor kid, I can’t imagine.”
“Wait! Teddy, Eddie!”
“Huh?”
“I dunno, maybe that’s your connection? Theodore to Teddy to Eddie. Maybe Wayne’s nephew is your Eddie?”
It took some more searching, but Dustin was right on the money; Steve finds the first mention of both names in a 1982 Hawkins High yearbook under a black and white picture of five teens in the book’s club section.
“‘Theodore “Eddie” Munson (far left), leader of Hawkins High’s newest club, Hellfire, with fellow sophomores Ronnie Ecker, Jeff Monroe, Frank Zuiwiski, and freshman Gareth Emerson.’.” Steve reads off. “‘The tabletop, pen-and-paper game Dungeons and Dragons (“D&D?” Dustin yells, attempting to pull the book from his hands, making Steve twist around in his chair to avoid him.) is the club’s main focus and is largely math based.’.”
Dustin pulls the yearbook from Steve’s hands as soon as he’s finished reading. “How did I not know Hawkins had a D&D club?!”
“Oh my god, my ghost is a nerd.”
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“What the fuck?? What the fuck??”
Eddie had not expected Steve to be awake when he drifted upstairs that morning. Nor did he have any inkling that the man would whisper out a trembling “Eddie?” when he arrived at his door.
It’s only March, how in the hell can Steve even see him?
He sounded so scared too… damn it!  He only just got here and now Eddie’s gone and ruined everything.
Instead of bright sparkling happiness or burning hot rage, a deadening, sinking, cold melancholy seeps into his core. The dreadful feeling sinks him further down into the house, all the way to, and into, the floor of his closet under the stairs.
Eddie stays hidden away while Steve shuffles around that morning and for two mornings after that. He’s aware of the living man’s movements through the creaks of the floorboards and hinges as he goes about his day each day, unpacking boxes and accidentally cutting his finger, shocking himself when he sets up his fancy-ass TV in the master bedroom, listens when he sings along to the Spoofy he’s been playing for Eddie and some of his own modern-sounding songs.
But Eddie doesn't make an appearance.
For three days, he wallows, alone.
Late into the night of the second day, well, early in the morning on the third, technically, the Moon reaches to him, asks him what is wrong.
It’s still dark outside, the sky just beginning to lighten, when he leaves his confines and breezes out onto the back balcony.
He notices belatedly that were are boxes and dropcloths littered around the great room as he passed through it; seems like Steve had been busy.
Again, the moon reaches softly to him, What are you afraid of? her soft hold on him asks, the encouragement bleeding through her glow over him evident.
“My heart may be dead and gone, but that doesn’t mean I want it broken.”
He regrets his words immediately, her amusement at his slip up skitters all along the planks of Steve’s balcony.
“Nononono no, not like that, he doesn’t–I don’t–He just…” why is he trying to lie to her? “Okay, so what if I have a big fat crush on him? ‘Ooh everyone look the lovesick dead guy’,” he mocks. “It’s not like jack shit can happen, so what if I do? It’s only a stupid crush anyway.”
Eddie listens to the sounds of the night as the sky lightens a couple shades more, the Moon’s continued amusement apparent to none but him.
Her jovial mood dies off after a shade or so more, then turns questioning once again, though tired, apparent from her low seat in the sky.
Eddie’s gut twists, “He could see me…Why can he see me already?”
The confusion persists, a new drop of encouragement comes and goes.
“I’m sure I scared him with the…” he gestures to the wispy all of him, “I don’t want to freak him out more…”
She grows exasperated with him; Eddie can picture his late Uncle’s good-natured eye roll and practically hear the fond tongue-click behind her new irritation.
“What? What’d I say?”
The Moon all but bowls him over with one more blast of encouragement before she disappears behind the trees and under her sister’s glow.
Eddie huffs out a sigh. Message received…
Eventually, later in the morning, the stairs above him creak with Steve’s weight, and Eddie listens to him hum as he passes outside his door toward the kitchen.
He’s there for a little bit, probably eating something? Then the sound of Dio filters down the hall to him. 
Steve started the Spoofy for him again.
Soon after, the door into the garage opens and closes, and only after the garage door itself shudders to a stop, does Eddie leave his spot.
He wanders the house, taking in everything Steve had moved, or even torn off in his absence (“That wallpaper really was horrible, good on ya Steve.”), but eventually ends up back in the kitchen, thinking this time he’ll open a couple drawers for Steve instead of his usual cupboard fuckery, show him he’s back in action in a “Didja miss me?” type way, but stops short when he notices something laid out on the counter beside the speaker.
Color swatches. 
There’s a couple shades of green, some blues, a deep red, and even a bright sunshine yellow laid out with a slip of lined paper.
Eddie eases forward, clipping into the countertop as he does, to read the note.
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He stares dumbly at it for what feels like weeks.
Steve wants to know what he thinks? What Eddie would pick? Why? This is Steve’s house, why does his opinion matter?
‘It’s because he likes you.’ his not-actually-there brain tells him
“No the fuck he doesn’t, I’m dead. A ghost. I’m a nuisance at best.”
‘He knew your name.’
That happy sparking feeling returns, shooting through where his heart would be.
“He knew my name.”
Bright yellow flashes in his chest briefly. 
How did Steve figure that one out?
‘He said your name.’ he thinks to himself, then the sound of Steve saying his name starts to cycle across his thoughts.
“Eddie?”, “Eddie?”, “Eddie?”, “Eddie?”....over and over again until it stops sounding like a real word.
“Eddie.” Steve says, his tone no longer questioning, but welcoming.
“Eddie.” Steve’s smiling this time.
“Eddie..” Steve’s happy to see him.
It takes him a handful of minutes each time, but he manages to flip over about half of the colors Steve had laid out.
“I must be outta my mind,” Eddie grumbles, glowing bright in the middle of the kitchen.
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It took three days for Eddie to tell Steve what colors he doesn’t like. 
He left the swatches alone until something was done to them but eventually, on the morning of the third day since he’d put them out (after more decisions about where he’d use each if they weren’t vetoed, deciding which room he’d tackle first (the kitchen), and getting the rest of his furniture and TV situated in his room), Steve comes downstairs to find three of the blue shades and one each of the green, red, and grays flipped over on the countertop.
He smiles down at them as he eats his bowl of cereal; he’s not sure where his ghostly roommate is right now, so he sets down his bowl, fishes a pen out of his junk drawer, and adds a line to his note
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i can't believe i didn't do this on the first part, but tagging everyone who was interested in reading the whole fic from my first post w this concept!! (i think some of you already found pt 1 though!!): @gothwifehotchner @puppy-steve @babydollbaron @a-bun-danceoflove @after-the-end-times @mightbeasleep @shapeofaperson @val-from-lawrence @madigoround @steviebats @nburkhardt @scoops-stevie @kas-eddie-munson @i-less-than-threee-you @milf-harrington @khalesprix @matchingbatbites
and also tagging those interested on the last part <3: @little-birch-boy
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miserycanary · 5 days
Text
BREAK MY HEART INTO TWO ᡣ𐭩 ↬ next
pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley & fem!reader
synopsis: Ghost has been feeling pissed off lately, and happens to lash out on you
tags: slight angst, misunderstandings, very slight mention of violence
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He knew he was not in the right headspace. With the newly added task of training new recruits, the dead-end mission, and overall exhaustion. Ghost could feel his patience nearing nothing and he could feel it in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to control himself from lashing out soon— even if it was you. 
That’s why he started to distance himself and avoid you like the plague. Only responding with grunts or one-word answers. It’s not the best action but he couldn’t think of anything else. Despite the frustration clouding his mind, he still vows to never hurt you. He promised you that; reassured you that he would never ever raise his voice at you, his hand stroking your back and kissing your temple, after you told him about your past one drunken night. 
The first time Simon came home and didn’t immediately wrap his arm around you, nosing the crook of your neck, you knew something was up. You didn’t push the matter though. Brushing it off as something trivial and proceeding to go your usual routine. You did notice things that you never brought up with him: heavy footsteps, the lack of teasing from him, and uncharacteristically never clinging onto you  
What finally pushed you to visit the base was when Si, your husband who would go through all levels of hell just to be close to you and never lets a night pass without you with him in bed, suddenly tells you he will be sleeping on the couch. It baffled you. This is the same man who wrapped all his limbs around to keep you from leaving after a big fight. The same man that acts like a big baby when you tell him you’re gonna be away on a work event. Suddenly, the idea of him getting bored of you and finding entertainment with another woman intrusively swirled in your mind. 
Were you too loud? Too chatty? Clingy? Maybe you didn’t satisfy him enough. Maybe he wanted a wife available to always cook for him after work. It scared you. You love him; love him enough to change just to keep him.
You needed to talk to him. Whether he likes it or not. 
“Price, please. Just call him for me?” The captain looks at you, hesitating. Even though he was aware of Ghost’s thinning temper and didn’t want to put his comrade’s wife in a position that could result in a fight, he also knew that you needed to solve this. He scratches his beard, nervously looking at you. 
“Sweetheart, I don’t know. The man.. he.. he hasn’t been the best these days? Maybe you should go home and wait for him—“. You cut him off, “he doesn’t want to talk to me! Please, just 5 minutes and I won’t even cause a scene. I promise!” With a sigh, he finally relents and tells you to stay there while he calls for your husband. You crack a smile, nodding and feeling a sense of relief wash over you. 
Moments after being alone, a new recruit (you assume considering you’ve never met this man nor did Simon ever mention him) approaches you with a low wolf whistle. His hands find your waist before you can even comprehend what’s happening, pulling you close to his chest. 
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” You freeze, and disgust starts to bubble up inside of you. You plant your hand on his chest in an attempt to pull away in fear that Simon would witness this and think differently. Before you could say to leave you alone, a voice booms out. A voice you know too well. 
“Y/N!” Simon takes three strides and he was near enough to pull the recruit away from you and land a punch. Scandalous gasps went around while the yells of other members went inaudible to you. You stood there in horror as Price stepped in, pushing Ghost away and yelling to stand down. This was not your Simon. Your Simon would never be this violent in front of you— he was too scared to frighten you and do something to push you away. These weren’t the same hands carried you as if a delicate flower he plucked as well. The hands that routinely offers to brush your hair every night and washes you every sex session while he kisses your shoulders, showering you with endless praise with a voice filled with adoration.
Ghost whips his head. His cold stare made you falter, taking a step back. Something you never thought you’d do when faced with him. You could see his mask move, undoubtedly hiding his disappointment and furrowed eyebrows. 
“What are you doing here?” He seethes, roughly gripping your arm tight enough to leave a bruise.
“I-I... I wanted to see you—“ Before you could even finish, Ghost groans with frustration. “I fucking told you to not come to the base. Were you even thinking? Use that pea-sized brain of yours once in a while! Just.. leave me alone and go home.”
Silence. The whole base quiets down with his words, a tense atmosphere building up. You freeze. From the corner of your eye, you notice Price’s contort with concern and hesitation if he should meddle. 
The pain you felt was indescribable. It was as if Ghost took your heart and crushed it with his bare hands. Your breathing got labored, your eyes flicked down, taking deep breaths to hold back tears. Before the realization has fully settled, you pull away from Ghost, mumbling something incoherent. In that moment, Ghost knew he fucked up. He hurt his darling flower. He hurt the only person he treasured. The person that stayed with him through thick and thin. The person he married, vowed in front of God to love forever and to never hurt. 
“No, baby— I didn’t mean to—“
You cut him off, telling him you were going back just like he wanted. You didn’t even call it your home. You always do. Saying it with pride to have something to call home with him. 
God, what has he done? 
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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: dare I say this man needs a break :} Second part is out. Little detail: I use ‘Simon’ during Y/N’s pov and Ghost for the rest, but used Ghost for her after he yelled at her. :3
Please reblog!! Ask is open!
dividers by @cafekitsune
⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.
check out my other works: ⚝! I’m taking in requests.
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lilywastaken · 1 year
Text
⇝ refuge .
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.
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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.
If you want to be tagged in future works, please follow and activate notifications on this account - @lilynottaken !
Also on Ao3!
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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. 
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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. 
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“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.
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haruchuiyo · 1 year
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simon says
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simon loves the color green on you.
cw: nsfw, with small bits of fluff at the beginning and the end. established relationship, big dck!ghost, soft dom!ghost, unprotected sex, fingering, p in v, praise (f receiving), mating press, slight breeding, stomach bulge, dacryphilia, overstimulation, cockwarming, reader wears a lingerie, nicknames like ‘baby’, ‘sweet/good girl’, ‘doll’ and ‘sweet doll’+ ghost is absolutely obsessed with you.
fem!reader
word count: 2k+
NSFW UNDER THE CUT
I like the color green on you.
Is what Simon said a few months back. He had been reluctant to share the information with you, you saw hints of red on his earlobes and a little on his cheeks. When you subtly touched his neck, he was warming up there. So he felt shy telling you that information.
You had gotten a message late at night from him saying his mission is done and he’s coming back home. You felt your heart flutter at the thought of him coming home, you’ve missed him so much. And he have missed you a lot.
Ghost came home to an empty one until he heard footsteps in the bedroom. He recognizes the familiar ways you walk, so he knew it was you. Relaxing, he takes off his shoes and outerwear and goes straight for the bedroom. To find you. To get to you. He has missed the sweet scent of you, your voice, your touch and smiles. He don’t want to waste a second.
He calls out to you when he hears you reply to him from the bathroom. He takes off his his mask and sweater, leaving him in his white shirt. He was about to take his jeans off when he hears the bathroom door open.
His breath hitches, heart pounds in a haste against his ribcage and he gulps. He can’t get his eyes off you. You wearing a dark green babydoll lingerie, the sweetheart neckline goes deep down to show your sternum. Fucking hell. He only gets his eyes off your pretty tits when he hears your pretty giggle.
“Hi Simon.” Oh how he have missed your voice. “Hi baby.” That alone sends a shiver down your spine and you rub your thighs together cause of his husky voice that you love so much.
“Do a little twirl for me.” Simon says and your eyes slightly widens in surprise before you happily oblige to his words. As you twirl, his eyes goes to watch your cute ass that gets shown when you twirl.
He managed to get in front of you so quickly, you let out a soft gasp as he holds onto your hips. He leans his head down to your neck at the same time as his hands slides down to your thighs, before sliding them up along with the babydoll lingerie. The materials slides up along with his hands as he breathes in your scent by your neck. You go to grip onto the front of his shirt when you feel his large hands brace against the sides of your tits. Simon lets out a soft groan when he feels your tits against his thumb. He flicks over your nipple over the material covering it, making you gasp and your knuckles turn white from how tight your hold is now on his shirt. You see a small smile form on his lips.
“Pretty.” He simply says. “So pretty.” He repeats, as if he can’t stop himself. You’re so pretty. He wants to take the lingerie off you immediately. When he feels your hands crawl up his neck to wrap your arms around them, he gently grabs ahold of your face. You go onto your tiptoes and your lips met his. Simon let out a soft groan into the kiss as your lips move together. His need for you only intensifying while your heart pounds against your chest as your knees grow weaker.
He breaks his lips apart from yours for a second, lips stretching into a smile as he looks at your flustered state, not that he is any better, only to kiss you again as his hands slowly but gently goes down from your face to your neck. He gives a gentle squeeze, making you softly whine into the kiss. Fucking hell, he loves that sound.
When you feel his hands slide down from your neck to thighs, he gives them a little soft pat, that’s your cue to lift your legs as he pulls you up into him. As you wrap your legs around his hips, his hips bucks against you. Moaning into the kiss as you feel his cock brush against your clothed cunt. He takes the chance when your lips part as you moan to nip onto your lower lip. He gives your ass a squeeze before he lowers you down on the bed.
He can’t love enough of the sight in front of him, your hair splayed out on the pillow, nipples erect as they brush against the material of the lingerie, your thighs rubbing together as you reach your hands go lower and past your stomach. Ghost felt himself completely stop breathing when he sees how your eyes closes in bliss as you rub your fingers against your cunt.
“Stop.” He breathes out. And you stop as you open your eyes. You see how his chest heaves up and down and his how his cock strains against his jeans.
He takes his jeans off as you quietly watch him. You see new unfamiliar wounds on his arms as he takes off his shirt.
“Simon, you’re hurt.” Your voice is soft with worry. His heart swells at how you worry for him cause of such small wounds.
“I’m alright, sweet girl.” He softly reassures you as he gets on the bed.
“Now I want you to spread your legs for me, you can do that right?” The voice switch was so smooth, you do a slight pout as you nod. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He praises you before you spread your legs apart slowly and when he gets a view of your cunt, his goes to hold onto your knees and it tightens the more he looks at how wet your pussy are.
“Simon.” Your soft plea takes him out of his stare before he realizes how tight he held you. “Sorry baby.” He softly apologizes. He situates himself between your legs and your heart pounds ever faster at the anticipation of what he’s gonna do. When he pulls you close enough to have your cunt on his clothed cock, you almost lose it immediately.
“Not yet, sweet doll.” He tells you before he reaches for your hands next and pulls you up into his lap.
You immediately go to wrap your arms around his neck. Your tits brushes against his bare chest and you softly moan at the friction. You feel his fingers on your back, softly tracing around before he reaches the strap of your lingerie on both shoulders and slowly pulls them down, the upper half of your lingerie falling down to reveal your bare chest to him. He doesn’t waste a second to take one tit in his mouth.
Your legs wrap around him tightly as you arch your back against him. Your cunt brushes over his crotch, Ghost groans against your nipple. He flickers his tongue over your nipple, sucks on it before he takes it between his teeth and slowly pulls. You cry out at that before he fully takes it in his mouth. He makes a satisfied sound as he holds you closely to him before switching to give your other tit equal attention. Your hands slide up to grip onto his hair, he groans at your tugging as he sucks on your nipple before pulling away, a string of saliva between his lips and your tit.
“I’ve missed your tits.” He says truthfully as he softly plays with them. You were about to giggle when you feel his hands go down to your cunt, his thumb circling your clit. Head throwing back, you choke out a gasp at him flicking his thumb over your clit.
“Love the sounds you make, my sweet doll.” Simon’s voice is barely above a grunt before he tugs the material that covers your cunt aside, to slip his finger in. You bury your face into the crook of his neck as you pant against the skin there.
“Mmm Simon, feels to good.” You manage to softly cry at. Simon feels wet tears on his neck which only make him keep going. He decides to slip in another finger, his two fingers alone stretches your cunt as you cry out sounds of pleasure while tugging on his hair.
“Have you touched yourself when I was gone?” His voice sound restrained but composed still. You shake your head against his neck. He feels himself smile at that.
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t feel as good as when you do it.” You reply before whimpering when he curls his fingers up inside your walls. “Is that so?” His voice, he is teasing you. You almost cry at that.
“Simon.” You whine out with a pout against his neck. He chuckles as he keeps sliding his fingers in and out of you and when he feels you clamp down on them, that was reason enough for him to slip in yet another finger, stretching you even more. You gasp at the stretch and the third finger before you feel yourself come. You bite down on his neck as he lets out a grunt at that, also feeling how your walls clamp down around his finger as you come. He is desperately wishing it was his cock your cunt was wrapped around and clamped down on.
“You did so well.” He coos at you with a gentle squeeze on your ass with his other hand. He rubs your slick over your cunt as you softly rubs your face against his neck still, face wet with tears. When you pull your head away from his neck, you see how he licks on his fingers that was inside you. All while looking at you and you feel yourself clench down on nothing when he grabs your head to pull you in for a kiss. Making you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into the kiss.
“Missed the taste of you on my lips.” He murmurs against your lips. You let out a tiny soft sound of pleasure at that. As you two kiss, he lays you down back on the bed, softly patting your thighs. “Up.” He shortly says and you lift your legs and ass up as he takes the lingerie off you. You feel cold air brush against your bare cunt when you see Simon move away a little bit to take his underwear off. His cock springs out, glistening and leaking with pre-cum. Reflexively, you hold onto the sheets as you part your legs at that, which didn’t go unnoticed by Simon himself. A evident proud smile forms one his stunning face at your action.
“Good girl.” He says for the second time and you could feel your entire body flutter at his praise. You love it. And you anticipate very much for what’s to come.
Simon gets closer to you in between your parted legs. He trails his hands up and down your thighs before leaning down as he places his palm on the mattress, holding himself up. You watch how his tattooed arm flex at that, feeling yourself salivate at the sight.
“You look beautiful under me like this.” Ghost sounds satisfied as he says that, while he holds onto his cock with his other hand to line up to your cunt. No matter how much preparation, his cock never fails to stretch you slowly by slowly. And each time feels so good, you could come at the first intrusion itself. You bite down on your lower lip as Simon lets out strained groans at how tight you are wrapped around him.
And when he is fully sheathed inside you, it’s like your walls is made to fit his cock. He places his hand down on your stomach and feels the bump, he could cum for that alone. He presses against it, the tip nudged his palm. Simon moans when you clench down on him, grabbing onto your hips before he slips out of you, making you whine before slipping back again in a haste. A cry leaves your lips at his thrusts, his knuckles white from how hard he is holding your hips. You dig your heels into his lower back at his pace as you fist onto the sheets.
“You feel so good, fuck, so perfect.” He says with a contended grunt as he lunges into you, absolutely eating up your sweet little cries.
He lets go off your hips to grab onto a pillow, he stopped moving the seconds he was putting the pillow below your ass. And when he was done, inserts his cock inside you and thrusts. A hoarse breath leaves your lips at how deeper this angle feels, the tip almost kissing your cervix, until you feel him grab ahold of your legs and presses them against your tits with one arm, as his other hand goes to rub on your clit. Tears runs down your face at the overstimulation.
Ghost feels the familiar clenching on his cock and he sees how your eyes rolls back as you arch your back, while he pounds into you.
“Look at me, doll.” His voice shaky but deep. You look at him and can’t help to think how pretty he looks. His hairs a mess, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest as his lips are parted while he thrusts into you.
“Come for me, baby.” He manages to say, a last flicker to your clit sends you overboad making you curl your toes. Ghost steals a few more thrusts before you feel his cock twitch inside your pulsating walls. He pushes himself deep inside you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as he spills thick ropes of cum inside you, filling you whole. Loosening his hold on your legs, he still fucks his cum into you.
He leans down to take your lips in a soft kiss before pulling away to kiss at your face, wet with tears. He holds your face gently as he does one last thrust before slumping down on you, not completely, to kiss you again. Both your cum forming an O around the base of his cock which is still inside you.
He breaks the kiss once again to take a look at you. His own pretty doll. Your hairs messily splayed out, lips are swollen and your face are wet from the tears. He watches your up and down heaving chest, he sees his love bites around your nipples and on your mound. He sees prints of his hold on your waist. He softly touches it.
“Does it hurt, baby?” He softly murmurs, you gently shake your head as you reach to softly massage his head. “Not really, it go away soon.” You softly tell him. He hums in reply as he peppers soft chaste kisses on the bruises before leaning up to face you. You hold onto his beautiful face, thumb gently stroking his cheek, feeling his scars below your touch. He closes his eyes as he softly rubs his cheek into your palm. You pull his face down and meet his lips in a kiss.
“I love you.” He softly mumbles and you smile at him, heart swelling at his words. It’s not often he says it in words, but when he does, you treasure each moment. “And I love you.” You softly tell him back, a small genuine smile breaks out on his lips. He chuckles against your lips before he goes to rub his face on your neck.
crying, i need him so badly
If you’ve come this far, a reblog, feedbacks and likes would be soooo appreciated :3
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lovifie · 14 days
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Spidey 🕸️
Ghost x Spiderwoman!Reader
@cheomain 's idea 💗
I haven't seen the new movie, so I went with the classics, hope you like it.
You were the new member of the 141, Laswell's own recommendation. But even Price, who would trust Laswell with his life, had second thoughts about you joining. 
You were a scrawny, half-blind, way too young girl. The last person Price would have picked for the team. 
“Let them show you, John. You need her to hack and collect the intel. She can't take a grown man down, but she's a decent shot.”
So he let you join, most of the time you felt like a child; constantly being told to walk close between two of them or it would be the complete opposite and they would tell you to stay hidden taking advantage of your tiny size. 
Ghost was the one that liked the least, he already worried about the whole team making it back home safe and they were able to fend for themselves. You? You were like a puppy, walking between their feet almost making them fall all the time, and still, you looked fucking delighted to be in the way. Ghost hated how happy you seemed to be all the time, hated how unaware of the danger you seemed to be, and he hated that he was unable to ignore how much he cared you got back safe.
But there was a thing he hated more than anything. 
Superheroes.
The 141 was one of the few task forces that still existed, in many places arguing that they were no longer needed since now there were superheroes. And the hatred the population already had for the military only got worse. 
Plus, even though Simon never joined the military to get famous, it still rubbed him the wrong way when they would go on a mission, fight for days, lose friends, and only for a random superhero to arrive when everything was almost finished and take all the glory. 
He hated them all their life, and he always wondered why people liked them so much when he was home any of them came to save him, his mom or his brother. He always hoped one would save him, but they never did. 
So both Simon and Ghost hated superheroes.
All of them. 
So when they got the intel that a lab was working on creating new superheroes, he didn't need any more convincing and started getting ready.
The five of you walked along the rows and rows of animals captive inside the lab. Luminescent fish, shielded beetles, poisonous snakes, all the kinds. Ready to be experimented with, just for selfish humans wanting to be heroes. 
“Keep walking, kid” Price mumbled behind you, making you peel your eyes away from the different fish bowls and terrariums. “Alright. Kid, you stay in this room and look around if you can find any document or proof. The four of us will go down the hall, there are some lights on, see if we can find anyone.”
You nod, already used to being left alone, and walk around the office, pushing your glasses up when they slide down your nose as you look down at the desks. Lab records of failed attempts, codified names of patients, data of the genome of the different animals they used, by the look of all of them they have been trying for years. Poor animals.
It is at that point, while you are reading the information of the different animals, that you feel a sharp pain in your lower back, right over your ass check. 
“Fuck!” You mumble, the sound reaching the team's ears through the intercom and making them still in their moves. 
You turn around, expecting to see somebody stabbing you. But you are still alone and when you look at the point the pain came from, you only see a tiny spider. 
“Fucking perfect.” You groan to yourself as you slap the spider off your body, but once again it reaches the rest of the team.
“Kid, what the fuck are you doing?” Price asks, the team still immobile waiting for your explanation. 
“Nothing, sir. Keep going.” You say, not wanting to jeopardise the mission. Part of you gets offended by how they automatically keep going without another care, but the actual logical part of you starts to panic because you just got bitten by a spider from a lab that tries and makes superhumans. 
You frantically try to find some kind of information about said spider in the files on top of the desk, almost crying when you find it and read: “Not poisonous.” 
Shots and screams can be heard from the end of the hall and you know you don't have time to read the whole file. So you snatched it, shoving it under your vest, just in time for the first people to come running out. 
“Kid! Don't engage in combat! I repeat, don't engage!” Price's voice barks in your ear.
“Roger that!” You quickly answer, hiding under the desk and holding your breath as people run around you. One of them stopped right beside you and frantically shoved around the papers just like you were doing a moment ago. 
“Shit! Shit! Shit! It's gone! The spider is gone! The file too! FUCK!” The person next to you screams, only adding to your ongoing anxiety about being bitten. 
“Leave it!” A second voice shouts getting closer. “Leave everything and run! They are activating the system! This shit is about to get blown to bits! Run!” 
The second they are far enough to grab the radio to talk to the team. “Captain! They are blowing up the lab! We need to get out!” 
“Take as much info as you can and run, kid! The door is locked, we are going out the other way, we can see the exit! Meet us at pick up!” The Captain quickly shouted back.
“What?!” You ask back. “You were leaving me here?!” 
You can make out what he says, but you stand up to look around. You need to take something with you, even if it is only to hit them with it. 
There is a laptop on top of the desk, so you grab it along with as many files as you can bring. Sprinting to the door, the workers of the lab already out of the place, way more lucky than you. The halls inside are an absolute maze, and the only thing you have to guide you out are the blood marks of those who got out before you. 
Just when you see the outside, the helo in the distance hovering just half a meter off the floor, you hear the beep beep beeeep of a countdown going off. Only managing to put a foot outside of the door, before the blast wave sends you flying forward, your glasses flying away from you. Clutching the laptop as if it were your own life, especially taking into consideration that your “team” would be more worried about it. 
Your ears ring when you open your eyes again, a buzzing sound in the background coming from the helicopter. Gaz on the open door calling your name, enough to get back on your feet and keep running; the man picks you up from your vest and takes you inside before closing the door. 
You leave the laptop on the floor, files scattering around as well as you sit on the floor, back resting against the wall, hugging your legs as you try to get your breath back. 
Gaz is looking at you worried, Soap is beside you tidying up the files, Ghost flying the helicopter and Price is behind Gaz, staring at you. 
You can't help it back look back at him with anger in your eyes, he was ready to leave you behind if you didn't get out on your own and he didn't even tell you. Suddenly feeling like your biggest ally today was the terrorist who told his colleague. 
The ringing in your eyes slowly fades away, the sound of the helicopter sounding more and more clear. 
“You solid, kid?” Price's voice sounds over the rotating blades. 
“Yeah… not thanks to you, though.” You say, mumbling the last part, pissed about it. Price chooses to ignore it, for the sake of the peace. Only giving you a look of “We'll talk later.”
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By the time you reach the base, you are burning up. Every time you close your eyes being harder to open them back up, your whole body feels on fire and you're feeling pain in places you didn't even know you could. 
You should go to the infirmary, but then they would see the spider bite and it would make sense that they would want to be left behind, or at least that the reasoning behind your decision to instead go to your room and sleep it off. 
Or at least you would if the pain wasn't keeping you away, you turn around in bed trying to find a comfy position failing and failing again and again. Still, at some point, it must have knocked you out because the knocking on the door wakes you up. 
The sun is out and the fever seems to be gone, so you stand up, groaning because of the residual pain and walk up to the door, opening it. Coming face to face with Ghost. 
“Morning, soldier” He greets, no kind of emotion in his voice and you can't see his face. “You skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning, we don't need you any skinnier.”
Just then you take notice of the paper bag on his hand and the water bottle on the other. You try to use the hand that is still holding the doorknob, only to realize that it seems to be stuck to it. You furrow your eyebrow, which doesn't go unnoticed by Ghost; and you point to the table with your other hand. 
“Can you leave it there, please?” You ask, still trying to get your other hand free as you open the door more so he can come in. 
He enters the room, dropping the food on the table and turning to you with crossed arms. “Are you alright?” He asks, still confused with the way you seem to not be able to let go of the door, pulling back with all your body weight.
“Peachy.” You grunt back, your hand finally detaching from the knob and almost sending you to the floor as the door bust open hitting the wall. “A weird cramp, that's all.”
He nods slowly, walking away from the table and closer to the door. “You sure you are fine? You flew quite some meters yesterday… you lost your glasses.” He points to your face
Until he mentions it you haven’t realise because you can see perfectly fine; even better than before when you were wearing them. You furrow your brow, rubbing your eyes as if to get the bad eyesight back by pure force and you look at him, still seeing better than ever. 
“Yeah… they flew yesterday, I'll get new ones.” You say, still confused by it. He nods, telling you about letting Price know so he can give you the money back and starts to walk out of the door, turning back and rubbing his face already dreading what he is about to do. “Oh, and, hey… good job, yesterday.” 
As he talks, he raises his fist for you to bump it. Which only adds to the confusion, he really must feel bad for leaving you behind yesterday. Still, the situation is all awkward it is causing you physical pain, so you bump his fist to get over with it and close the door with your feet when he leaves. 
Once alone in your room, you rub your face with frustration only for your fingertips to get stuck on your forehead. You stay paralyzed for a second, not understanding what is going on and trying to peel your hands away from your face. 
Your skin stings when you try to pull making you whence, understanding that you can't just pull. So you close your eyes, take a deep breath and quickly pull your hands as if you could catch it by surprise. You curse when it obviously doesn't work walking back, knocking the water bottle off the table, surprising yourself when your hands catch the bottle before it even rolls off the table.
Something tells you to look at your phone, and just when you do a message pops up. You focus all your senses on letting go of the bottle and it falls off your hands like normal, making you doubt if you really got stuck before. You look at your phone, using your knuckle to unlock it and tapping in the password to read Ghost's message.
💀: Debriefing in 20’
💀: Shower!
“Rude.” You think, knowing damn well that you stink for coming straight from the mission and spending the nights sweating. You type back with your knuckle:
🕷️: rofer thar
“Shit… close enough” You lock the phone and take off your clothes to shower. Once on your undery, you turn to look into the mirror the spider bite on your hip; only to see that your body is not the same as yesterday's. 
It looks like you gained at least 10 kilos of pure muscle, your biceps popping out, shoulders rounded out by muscle, thicker thighs that you know will not fit on your pants anymore, rounder ass and overall the athletic build of some kind of olympic athlete. 
The only mark on your skin being the bite, even some of your freckles are gone from your skin. The bite, on the other hand, looks terrible. Two little dark purple dots are visible, the surrounding red and angry and little lighting-like red lines go out of it, going up your back and around your hip. 
You take a deep breath and jump into the shower, using the back of your hands to do so, which only makes it trickier. Once washed, you look into your closet taking out the only clothes you believe will fit you. A pair of leggings that sit just a bit too tight and an oversized sweatshirt to cover as much as possible. 
You put on your shoes and walk to the captain's office; to your disgrace, the door is closed and you knock. You hear, as if it was right behind you, a “C’mon in”. But you don't want to risk it getting stuck, so play dumb and knock again. Ghost opens the door and comes face to face with you again, much closer than in your room and you see his eyebrow furrow 
“Have you gone on a growth sprout in the last 20 minutes?” He asks, confusion clear in his tone. “And are you wearing makeup?”
You realize that the freckles on your face must have banished too, plus the fact that the bags under your eyes seemed to be gone as well last time you checked. 
“No. Must be the shoes.” You answer, walking under his arm inside the room feeling his eyes travel down your body. You sit down next to Gaz, looking at Price as Ghost closes the door and sits down, still looking at you. 
“First thing first.” The captain says clearing his throat. “Great job yesterday, you can work on the laptop whenever you want, kid. And also, good job for the heads-up about the bomb.” 
“You didn't know?” You ask, confused by his words.
He shakes his head. “We were wondering why everyone was running out, we tried to go back to you and the gates were blocked, we were suspicious of it but you confirmed it.”
You nod your head slowly, taking it in.“All set, then, right?” He asks looking at the four others. “If you are still mad you can say it, I don't want my team keeping their thoughts in only for them to explode in the middle of the mission. Is there anything you want to say, kid?”
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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months
Text
What Are We (1 of 4)
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, possessive!Simon, touching (lots of it), kissing, romantic tension
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series
Simon wants an answer. And if you're going to reject him, you better look him in the eye when you say that you don't want him.
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // what are we masterlist
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You’re not looking in front of you. You’re not even glancing at your feet.
Your gaze is attached to the precarious stack of files in your hands, too focused on keeping them balanced and together to notice anything or anyone else around you.
Which is why you don’t see Simon until it’s too late.
His hand on your upper arm is a vice, and there is no escape from him. With a quick jerk, you’re rudely pulled in the opposite direction, and promptly shoved into a coat closet of an office. Some of the papers in your arms go flying, and you desperately reach for them, irritation burning in the back of your throat.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, after snagging the last wayward piece of paper.
Simon stands quiet in front of the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. Even now, when you’re annoyed with him, you can’t help but to rake your gaze over his muscled form, taking in every morsal. It’s a crime not to do so.
“What’s wrong with me?” mocks Simon slowly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Your eyebrows immediately rise toward your hairline in surprise. Then, just as quickly, your mind catches up to the situation. You know exactly what Simon is up to. He’s done this before, cornered you in a such a way as this as a means to break you, to make you bend until you completely break for him.
“No,” you state, shaking your head. “We’re not doing this. I know what you’re up to, Simon.” You press the stack of papers against your chest, crossing your arms over them protectively, one finger pointed in his direction in accusation.
Simon takes one unhurried step away from the door, and that singular move is entirely too close for comfort. “You don’t have the right to pull me aside whenever you want,” you continue. “To be domineering and push—” Simon takes another step and you nearly drop the stack of papers.
“Back off,” you bite, not entirely believing your own strength in the delivery.
“I deserve an answer.” Simon’s voice is not exactly a growl, but his timbre roots you to the spot.
“About what?” you stammer, already confused and unsure of where Simon is taking this.
“About what we are.”
“What?” Your voice breaks on the end, going a bit high.
“We’ve been on each other the last few months. Or did you forget?”
No. You haven’t. How could you? Just yesterday, you were a submissive puddle beneath him, allowing him everything.
Simon arches a single eyebrow and you immediately comply without thought. “Why would you ask me that?”
Your question is a cop-out. You know this. Simon knows it.
When Simon closes in, you do not move or reprimand him for doing so. He takes another step, this time into your space, and you are blocked from leaving this cramped enclosure.
“Did you think I’d forget, love?” croons Simon, and the sweetness of it is enough to flame the slumbering heat within you into a small fire. “That I didn’t hear you.” Simon leans in. “That I missed what you murmured while I was buried deep inside you?”
You swallow, salvia sticking in your throat as you clearly recall the sighed words of pleasure that dripped almost inaudibly from your lips.
I love you.
It was a mistake. A slip up.
Your voice is strained. Defeated. You’re not escaping from this. There is nowhere for you to run. “What do you want?”
“I want you to admit it.”
You glance away from Simon, hugging the papers close to your chest. “You’re mistaken.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his chest heave and his shoulders straighten. You turn toward the nearby desk, wanting to unburden the load in your arms. The moment the papers hit the desk, Simon grabs the lower half of your face, forcing your gaze back to him.
“Simon!”
He pins you against the desk, hands braced on the edge, his balaclava covered face inches away from yours.
“If you’re going to lie to me. If you’re going to reject me. You better look me in the eye when you do it.” You stare him down. Unmoving. “Don’t deny yourself,” he murmurs, one hand lightly squeezing your upper thigh.
Simon’s mouth, though covered by the balaclava, is dangerously close to yours. You feel his warm breath against your face as it filters through the fabric. It’s light, almost imperceptible. But it is there, and it makes you wanton, to close the distance.
“Why do you care so much?” you reply softly. “I thought you didn’t want more.”
Simon closes the distance even more, resting his forehead against your own. “Do you want me to recount all the ways that isn’t true?”
“Don’t be cruel.”
Simon presses his hips against you, showing you just how cruel he can be. “Then don’t play games.” From your face, Simon relocates his hand to the back of your neck. “Give me an answer. What are we?”
What are we?
As if you know. As if you’ve given the idea any life. But you have, haven’t you? You’ve imagined more than just simple meetings. And it isn’t like you and Simon get what you need out of your system and move on. There is always after. There is always before. There is always the comfort and the gentleness between all the rough, sharp edges.
What are we?
You give him the answer he’s seeking because maybe—just maybe—it’s what he desires too.
“I’m yours,” you breathe, and Simon’s sigh of relief is like a blooming flower. “I’m yours.”
“You’re mine,” repeats Simon, his mouth coming down on yours through the balaclava.
You don’t even care. This closeness is a balm to your soul. The teether you’re seeking.
Simon’s hands drop to your hips, lift you from the ground, and place you firmly on the edge of the desk. He slides between your legs, and your arms drape around his neck in anticipation of what comes next.
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pokechbi · 8 months
Text
🎀I Can Treat You Better Than He Ever Can, Love🎀
Simon Ghost Riley x fem Reader!
NSFW, MDNI !!!
Fem anatomy used
WC: 4.9K
As always, asks are open and every single interaction is so so greatly appreciated! I love u all 🫶
Enjoy loves 💗💗 !!!
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You sat in the mess hall, picking at your lunch, your appetite gone for the day. You stared ahead at Konig, sat two tables in front of you. You also stared at the brunette woman sitting across from him, giggling like a fucking schoolgirl at his every word. You watched, your head searing with green, slimy jealousy as she reached over and grazed her fingers over his. Bitch. You muttered quietly, putting the lid on the lunch you had brought from home.
"Someone's got their knickers in a twist." The Brit came from behind you, his steps quieted as always. He sat across from you, blocking your view of the Austrian beast you had your heart set on. You groaned, slumping over in your seat. "What's on your mind, mate" He asks. You look up at him. His gaze scanned your face, landing on your eyes, looking between them. You shifted in nervousness, fiddling with the sleeve of your turtleneck. He was boring a hole into your skin, his eyes dark and strong. You wouldn't hesitate to obey him like a dog when he stared at you like that. But he wasn't the one you had your heart set on. At least not anymore.
Months ago, you and Simon found yourselves alone in a conference room, and you were hell bent on releasing the sexual tension that had managed to build between you both for weeks. He stood towering over you, eyes sliding down your body and undressing you with his eyes. You approached him hastily, running your hands up and down his face, slowly slipping your fingers under the hem of his balaclava. He softly grabbed your hands, lowering your arms back to your sides. You looked at him confused. "I...can't, love." He spoke, his voice close to a whisper. Your heart dropped into your stomach as he said this, your breathing growing strained. You felt the tightening of your throat, tears threatening to well. "I'm your Lieutenant. This won't end well for either of us. You know that." He said gently, hands still wrapped around yours. You parted your lips to speak, your bottom lip quivering with your sadness, turned to pure anger. "So...you led me on?" You asked him. His eyes go wide, instantly shaking his head. " What? No, I didn't lead you on. I never promised anything between us." He scoffed, pointing a gloved finger in your face. "Did you think that our little moments meant that I'd risk my entire career for you?" You looked at him stunned, and began backing away slowly, nodding your head in disbelief. He runs his hands over his face, sighing frustratedly. "Listen...I'm sorry. I didn't mea-" "Save it, Simon. Forget this ever happened. That we ever happened." You spat, throwing the door open and slipping yourself through it. He watched painfully as you left, the sting of rejection stabbing your core.
The memory jabbed at you as he looked at you, the lustful look in his eyes that night slithering its way into your head. You push the thought away. You and Simon agreed to forget it happened, to stay as friends. You didn’t want to raise suspicion to any of the higher-ups, so you carried on like normal. It took weeks, months to feel like you were over him. You dreaded seeing him everyday, avoiding him on missions and around base like the plague. But somehow, he managed to work his way back into your life as if nothing happened. You decided it couldn’t be that bad for you, if anything it’d help you get over him and see him as a friend and nothing more. At least, you did. "Nothing's wrong, Simon. I'm fine." You reply, looking up to meet his eyes again. "Doesn't look like nothin' ". He chuckles. “The way you’re starin’ at Jessie like you wanna curb stomp the poor lass” He says smugly. Jessie. You scoff, your cheeks burning red with irritation. “Does everyone on this base know her fucking name?” You stand to your feet, grabbing your bag and not bothering to trash the container with your untouched lunch. You make your way out of the entrance to the mess hall, your blood boiling with jealousy. What did she have that you didn’t? You roll your eyes, walking hastily to the elevator. You needed to get outside, breathe some air. You felt suffocated in that building, like every single person there was secretly out to get you, knowing your deepest and darkest secrets and hell bent on using them against you. You’d been having shit luck on the field, distracted by the two damning men who plagued your mind. You wanted Konig. Needed him. And while you were friendly while he was stationed on the base, he showed no signs of wanting anything more. And that broke you, making you want to rip the hair right out of your head. First Simon, now him. You couldn’t catch a break.
As you approached the elevator, you felt a strong hand grab your wrist, holding you in place. Without turning around, you could already tell who it was. The smell of his musky, warm cologne wafted up your nose, triggering the memories you had tried so hard to purge from your head. You turn slowly to meet his gaze, the rough pads of his gloves chafing the skin of your wrists. You twist your arm, trying to wring it out of his grip. “Simon, let me go. I’m not in the fucking mood for this.” You spat, slapping his hand. He very easily overpowered you, and he knew that. He stood there, not budging as his death grip grew stronger. “You’re hurting me, Simon.” You cry, feeling the suppressed emotions and frustrations starting to simmer as they threaten to wreak havoc on you. He lessens his grip, but he steps closer to you, now hovering over your face. You turn your face away from him, staring at the floor as you feel his breath heat your skin. “You don’t need to be jealous of her, you know. Konig is nothing special.” He says smugly, disregarding the pure anger written on your features. "He's a door opener. A useless fuckin' wannabe sniper. Why are you so broken up over 'im?" You pause at his words. Did he really need to kick you while you were down?
You glare at him, trying to free yourself from his grasp once more. He finally lets you go, and you waste no time in pressing the elevator button. You don’t respond to him, hoping that if you ignored him he might take a hint and leave you alone. As you listen to the elevator making its way to your floor, you feel Simon step closer and closer behind you. “Don’t ignore me. You can talk to me.” He says, his voice a low grumble. You stand your ground, pursing your lips and scoffing at him. He sighs behind you. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You step inside, pressing the button to the ground floor. You raise your head to meet his gaze, and he wastes no time in stepping into the elevator with you before you can close the door on him. “Come on. Stop being so stubborn. Why won’t you-” 
“Simon, the last time I confided in you about my feelings, you rejected me and led me to believe you cared when you couldn’t have given less of a shit about them. And now you want to act like you give a fuck about what I feel? Please, spare me.” You say sarcastically, shaking your head at him. He doesn’t break his gaze, but instead keeps his eyes on you, running them over your face. For a split second, his eyes land on your lips. You feel your heart flutter as you notice it, being that you wouldn’t have caught it if you blinked. You curse him in your head, knowing this would lead nowhere good. He was leading you on again, giving you false hope. He was conjuring old feelings that you were sure were buried deep in you. Sure, the memories manage to seep through once in a while, but ultimately -  he had you whipped- and he knew that. The way you wanted to drop to your knees and let him degrade you, wishing he’d slam you up against this wall and take you right in this elevator…all because he looked at your lips. You needed to get a hold of your feelings, and fast. You were sure you would lose control if he tried anything, and it made you feel less than. You lacked self control when it came to your feelings, leading you to be hurt many times. You lacked self control especially when it came to Simon. 
“Love…I..” He steps closer to you, and by God’s will, the elevator doors slid open. You rushed out, grabbing your car keys from your bag and speed walked out of the door and to your car. Your eyes stung against the winter air, flushing your cheeks. You fumbled with the keys, pressing the button to unlock the door before you reached it. The sun had begun to set, rays of sunlight beaming over your face. As you reached your car, you heard him approach behind you. You groaned, turning to face him. You glared at him, his eyes pleading with you to listen to what he had to say. Your head was spinning, not knowing what you wanted more: For him to leave you alone, or take you right there, fucking you so deep you could feel him in your guts. You stood there, watching him in silence. The wind picked up, pushing your hair into your face. He stepped forward, his face hovering dangerously close to yours. Your breath hitched in your throat, not knowing how to react. Your mind constantly fought between pushing him off, telling him to fuck off and to quit these games of his, or just submitting to his every touch and letting the thoughts of resisting die in your head. “Please, just listen to me.” He says, running his hands up your arms. You gently shy away from his touch, shaking your head. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Simon. You’ve said enough already.” You say, a slight tremor in your voice from adrenaline. You didn’t know why he was doing this, complicating the feelings for him that you had worked so hard to store away. Why was he doing this? Now, of all times, when you found yourself remotely over him and wanted someone else. 
“You’re right. I’ve said enough. You’re completely right about that.” He reaches up, brushing your hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. The rough material of his gloves scrape your cheek. You wanted them off, his bare fingers touching you instead. “You know what they say, darling. Actions speak louder than words.” He continues, slipping his fingers to the back of your head, a handful of hair entangling his hand. With his free hand, he slowly reaches up to his face, swiftly lifting the balaclava over his lips. You had never seen his face before, and it seemed like your world stopped spinning at the slight glimpse of his strong jaw. A discolored scar ran up his upper lip, ending right on top of his lip line. He parted his lips, his breath now hot on your face. Your breathing trembled as he dipped his head forward, clashing his mouth with yours. You whine into the kiss, your knees weakening under you. His grip tightens on your hair, his body pushing you into the back door of your car. You fumble with the handle, not breaking the kiss as his hand lands on your ass, roughly squeezing it through your pants. You get the car door open, and Simon groans into the kiss as he pushes you inside. You break the kiss, sliding into the backseat as he lies you down on the seat. He hovers over your face as you lie back on the seat, reaching behind him and slamming the car door. He wraps his hand around your throat, beckoning you to sit up with him. He kisses you again, aggressively shoving his tongue in your mouth, groaning into you. The taste of him on your lips was enough to drive you absolutely feral, wanting more of his taste on your lips. He pulls you onto his lap, squeezing your hips as you straddle him. You moan softly as you grind your hips against his, the fabric barrier frustrating you and causing a wetness to pool between your thighs. You wanted nothing more in that moment than to diminish the very thing that held him back from being inside you already. You reached down, palming at his growing erection. He groaned into your mouth, throwing his head back at your touch. “I need you, love…don’t know how fucking long I’ve needed you.” He breathes, his grip on your hips growing stronger. 
“Please…Simon. J-just fuck me already.” You moan softly, raising your hand to claw at the collar of his shirt. He wastes no time in ripping it off like it was on fire, throwing it onto the car floor. He sits up, leaning you backwards as he undoes his belt. His jeans were uncomfortably tight around his crotch at this point in time, his shaft painfully pressed against his balls. He groans as he slides his jeans down to his thighs, rolling you off him to get them off the rest of the way. You watched lustfully as you started ripping your own clothes off, desperately yearning for his touch on your bare skin. You’re left in nothing but your panties, the cold draft rising goosebumps on your skin. After sliding his jeans down to his ankles, he leans over to grab you by the hips, dragging you onto his lap once more. He snaked an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. You’re unable to move, your nipples grazing his toned chest. The sensitivity of your hardened nipples causes a jolt to run through you, letting out a soft whine at the skin to skin contact. He notices your sensitivity, resulting in a low chuckle to rumble out of his lips. He smirks, staring at you mischievously. You let out a yelp, trailing off into a pleasured moan as he pinched your right nipple, dipping his head forward and taking the other in his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud, causing pleasure to shoot straight into your core, ecstasy flowing through your blood. “You sound so fuckin’ sexy, love. Keep going.” 
You continue to moan as you arch your back against him, taking more and more of your breast into his mouth. He leaves hickies on the soft, silky skin of your breasts, leaning back to look at his handiwork. He suddenly stops, beckoning for you to turn your back to him. You do as you're told, turning around on his lap with your back facing his chest. He slowly runs his hands down your thighs, opening your legs and placing a foot on each of his knees so you’re wide open for him. He grabs and palms at your thighs, resting a hand right over your pussy, slick with arousal. He chuckles as he feels how slick you are, leaning down to kiss your neck, whispering against your skin. “Look how goddamn wet you are for me. You’re just a little whore, yeah?” He whispers, slapping your pussy with an open palm, causing you to yelp. “You know I’d treat you better than he could, don’t you, love.” He asks, saying it more as a statement than a question. You nod, throwing your head back onto his chest as he slips a finger into your panties. He drags a finger from your hole to your clit, sliding it up and down painfully slow. “Oi, use your words, princess.” He demands, stopping his finger, making you whine out of desperation. “Y-yes! You can treat me better than he can, Simon.” 
“Good girl.” He continues sliding his finger between your pussy lips, the lewd sounds of your slick permeating the air. He lifts you by your hips, as if you weighed nothing to him. You feel him positioning the tip of his cock over your panties, swollen and leaking with precum. You buck your hips in need, your head rolling around on his chest. He chuckles deviously, moving your panties to the side as he exposes your clit to the chilled air. “Tell me you want it, love. Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you until your screamin’ my name so loud the fuckin’ windows shatter.” His gruff voice sends a chill down your spine, a predatorial lust laced in his tone. You part your lips to speak, your breath hitching in your throat as he slides his tip between your slick folds, causing a groan to escape his lips. “I want it so bad, Simon. I want you so bad. P-please.” You beg, barely able to get your words out as he uses your clit to smear his precum all over your cunt, both of you now wet with each other’s juices. You moan softly, holding back the scream of desperation you so badly wanted to let out. “Good fuckin’ girl. You want my cock in you that bad, aye?” He says, a grunt following as he lines the tip with your hole. “Y-yes! P-please, Simon.” You beg, bucking your hips forward. You feel how big he is already, throbbing and thick, hard like you’ve never felt before. You widen your legs, trying to lower yourself onto him. He holds you up by your hips, stopping you from taking what you need. You whine, your clit throbbing and swollen with need. “Needy fuckin’ girl.” He chuckles, pushing into you further. You both groan, your delicate moans soft and silky compared to his guttural, manly grunts. He lowers you onto him slowly, bucking his hips ever so slightly. He seemed to be holding back, and that frustrated you. You tried to push against his hands once more, trying to suck in just one more measly little inch. He exhaled sharply, suddenly wrapping a strong hand around your throat. 
“Quit bein’ so fuckin’ greedy, love. You’re like a bitch in heat for Christ's sake.” He says, the grip on your throat growing as you struggle to breathe. You take the lack of his other hand to stop you for granted, smugly pushing yourself down on him further. You smile triumphantly, feeling the electricity flow through your core. He groans in your ear, tightening his grip on your throat. Your air flow restricts, and you couldn’t have cared less. He was almost inside of you completely, and you could feel resistance as you struggled to take him. Catching his breath from the unexpected death grip your pussy had on him, he speaks. “I was tryin’ to take it slow for you, impatient fuckin’ slut.” He says, raising a hand to your face, landing an open palmed slap to your soft skin. The pain stung you so deliciously, making you giggle with delirium. Simon scoffs behind you, astonished at how absolutely filthy you were. “If that’s how ya wanna play it, love. Fine with me.” He says, and before you got the chance to hear an explanation, he slams into you all in one go, the throbbing tip of his cock pushing past the spongy wall that hadn’t been touched in quite a while. He begins to thrust his hips upward, plowing into you as if there were no tomorrow. You yelled out, your sounds a mixture of pained yells and lustful moans. His hand still had quite of a grip on your throat, causing your face to grow a deep shade of red as he fucked you. Noticing your lack of airflow, he lets go of your neck. 
He struggles to get his cock in you all the way, causing him to slow his pace. He groans in your ear as you grip his cock like a vice. 
“Relax. Let me in, baby.” He brings his fingers up to his mouth, spitting into them. He wraps an arm around your front, resting his lubed fingers on your clit. As he draws wet circles on your clit, your walls flutter and spasm around his dick, allowing him further entry. He lets out a low chuckle, continuing to rub your clit, the lewd sounds of him spreading his saliva between your pussy lips bouncing off the windows. “Gotta show the girl some love for her to open up to me, right, lass?” He says, his accent thick on his tongue. You nod, letting out a string of slurred “mhmms” as he continues loving on your clit. He starts to pump into you again, grunting and moaning in your ear. He curses, throwing his head back as he fucks you. Your heels dig into his knees, hoisting yourself up as you throw yourself down on him in sync with his thrusts. This seems to incapacitate him, ripping the thoughts right from his head. Your tits jiggle with every thrust, your hair hanging down and brushing against his face. He adores the view of you, trying your hardest not to cum as he pounds the spot that drives you nuts without missing a beat. The steady rhythm made you feel like you haven’t felt ever before, coming close to your end quicker than you ever had. His dick was working brutal magic on your walls, his fingers lovingly caress and flick at your clit. The mixture of feelings soon became too much for you to handle. You clenched against him, the sounds of your inner slick coating his cock turning you on like never before.
“Gonna cum, sweetheart?” He leans down, whispering into your neck. You nod furiously, eyes tearing up at the absolute love he was playing on your clit with. As if it were his own cock, feeling your pleasure ripple through you and into his blood as he touched you. In this moment, you knew. He had you. There wasn’t any escaping him after this, and there was no escaping your feelings any longer. The unsettling yet comforting feeling made your core tighten, conjuring an orgasm so strong, you’d prove to him with direct evidence that you were his, and no one else's. 
“ ‘m gonna cum, Simon. ‘m gonna cum” You slur, pressing the back of your head into his chest. “Cum for me, baby. I want you to fuckin’ cum all over my cock. You beautiful fuckin’ whore.” His words send you over the edge, a warmth rushing straight to your clit, spraying his hand with your squirt as you yell out, your eyes stinging with tears as you had never felt anything so. fucking. intimate. Your walls pulsate around him, your thighs instinctively trying to close themselves at the overstimulation. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. Simon wraps his hands around your thighs, prying them open with a strength you didn’t know he had. Simon seemed to enjoy your orgasm as much as you did, and it seemed that he got off more on watching you absolutely crumble at his touch. You knew it was something predatorial, but you chose to enjoy it anyway. As your walls fluttered and tightened around him, his grip on your thighs moved to his fingertips, leaving dark red marks in its wake. You knew he was close, and you didn’t want to admit that the thought of him filling you up with his seed, made you go feral. You continued bouncing yourself on him, his face now buried in your hair as he cursed and moaned. He was no longer bucking his hips at a rhythmic pace, now sloppily pumping into you as your cunt did its work on him. “Fuck, baby. I’m so fuckin’ close.” He gripped your thighs tighter, causing you to wince at the pain. It felt as if he was trying to rip your flesh open with his fingers, the feeling of your hot, squelching walls, fresh from an orgasm driving him to insanity. You smile as he continues moaning nasty nothings in your ear. 
“Gonna breed you, make you mine… forever.” 
“You’re mine now, do you understand that?”
“You won’t ever think of fuckin’ another man when I’m done with you. Do. You. Understand.” 
“Do you think Konig could fuck you like this? Didn’t think so, baby. Fuckin’ pathetic.” 
“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine - fuuuuckin’ hell” 
You keep a steady rhythm, rolling your hips onto his cock as the heels of your feet dig into his knees. He lets out a long guttural groan, breathing heavily against your hair. You feel his cock throb inside of you, his seed filling you to the brim of leaking. You feel some of him slip out of you, dribbling down your hole and onto your asscheek. He thrusts into you slowly, fucking his seed back into you. You belonged to him now, and God help any man who so much as looked at you the wrong way. You both stay connected inside of you for a minute, breathing into the air. The windows of the car were now fogged up, the chill making its way across your skin as you curled up in his lap. 
“Mine. All fuckin’ mine”.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ 
Simon’s lips curl into a grin as he slides your panties down your legs, balling them up in his hand as he tucks them into his pocket. You scoffed at him as you dressed yourself, still feeling the warmth of him drip down your walls. 
“What would the team say if they found out you’re a panty stealer?” You ask, teasing him as you slip your shirt on. 
“Well, depends on who it is. Soap’ll definitely beg for a whiff.” He says, your jaw dropping open. You smack his chest playfully. He grabs your hand, pulling you into a kiss. He kisses you gently, a great difference from how he’d been kissing you earlier. 
“Feelin’ better, love?” He says, breath hot on your lips. 
“Very much so.” You chuckle. You look at his lips, wondering what else was behind that mask of his. You look back and forth between his eyes, slowly reaching your hand forward, pulling the hem of his balaclava. “Let me see you, Simon” You say gently. He wraps his hands around your wrist, not stopping you, just holding you. You see a glint of nervousness in his eyes as you pull it from his head. You smile as your eyes scan over his face. His blonde hair sat messily atop his head, his features all coming together to make the most strikingly beautiful man you’d ever seen. His breathing grows heavier as he sees your reaction, seemingly releasing a breath he’d been holding. He smirks at you, slowly bringing your hand to his face. You caress his stubbled cheek, running your fingertips along his strong nose, crooked from multiple breaks. You softly run your fingers over his lips and jawline, your eyes lidded with lust. The way he looked back at you, confirmed everything you’d been trying to prevent yourself from believing all these months. “If you felt the same way about me, why did you…?” You start, tears stinging your eyes. 
“Things were complicated, love. Or not, I don’t know. I was a coward. You made me a coward.” He admits, a somber tone to his voice that you never expected to hear from him. He was usually a humorous, flat-toned man who expressed himself with silence, or witticisms, and there was no in between. The moment felt fragile, as if it would shatter if you spoke too loudly. You smile at him with shaky lips, a tear falling down your cheek. “All this time I thought…I don’t know, I thought you hated me too much to want to fix it.” He continues, swiping the tear from your face with his thumb. You felt as if you spoke you would break, so you kissed him. He breathes heavily into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your body. “I’m not good at this, love. But, you make me feel ways I thought were never possible for someone like me. And I promise, with every fiber of my being…I’ll never let this go. I’ll never let you go. No matter how hard you try and run from me.” He says, breaking into a smile at the last words. You smile at him, slipping your fingers through his blonde locks. His eyes gaze into your soul, his words settling into your heart, engraving themselves in stone. 
“I hated seeing you so broken up over that prick…I guess it fueled me to be better. To be better for you.” He says, resting his head in your hands. 
“I only wanted him as a rebound, Simon.” You say, a sly smirk on your face. He scoffs at you, raising his head to meet yours. His smile was still so new to you, enough to make you crumble at his feet without shame. “You’re a damn minx, you know that?” He says, a soft chuckle escaping from his lips. “You don’t have to worry about that useless bloke anymore.” He continues, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek. “I can treat you better than he ever can, love”.
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ghostlychief · 1 year
Text
Pockets of Peace
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (goes by code name ‘Swan’)
Summary: More often than not, you find yourself in the presence of Simon Riley, aka “Ghost.” You find that your blooming friendship with the aloof Lieutenant provides you with a blanket of comfort, offering you a place of solace within his company. It’s no different when you’re injured during your next mission.
Warnings: mentions of bullet wound, blood, nothing too graphic; fluff; hurt/comfort
Wc: 3.3k+
A/n: This is purely an indulgent fic, as I’ve become obsessed with the mw2 character ghost lmao. If you stumble across it, i hope you enjoy!! I really had a fun time writing this, so i hope you have as much enjoyment while reading. <3 (sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes, i’ve read this over and over and bound to miss a few)
ALSO: I’ve deemed Peace by Taylor swift this couples’ song so have a listen when you’re reading 🫶🏻
Part 2 found here: Weighted Blanket
--
When you first joined task force 141, it took you some time to feel fully a part of the team and comfortable. You were more on the quiet side, and chose your friends carefully; comes with the line of work, you figure. What you didn’t expect was to become closest to the man that goes by the name of “Ghost.” He was tall, quiet, and the only thing you could see of his face were his eyes, but for some odd reason, you two clicked. You frequently got paired up during missions, working well along side one another. You guys got the job done swiftly and with little difficulty and your skill sets complimented each other as well. While Ghost used brute force and took the enemy straight on, you used your size to hide and take down the enemy by surprise, from a far distance. You were the best sniper on the team.
You and Ghost completed mission after mission with flying colors, only the occasional scratch or two indicated you were ever in combat. Did he still intimidate the hell out of you? Well, of course. His intimidation and brooding atmosphere only made you want to be friends with him more.
Your acquaintanceship with Ghost started to bloom 6 months after you joined the team. After one particularly long and exhausting mission, you and Ghost ended up drinking a 12 pack in his room. It became a regular occurrence after that, with you quickly realizing that winding down with Ghost was the best way to recover from a mission. The conversation always started off with work talk but after a couple of beers, the conversation would steer towards other topics. During these nights, Ghost became more talkative, slowly opening up to you, and you the same. One evening, after Ghost had a couple beers in him, he gave you a nickname, “Little Swan.” That was the first time he ever made your heart race.
During these late-night chats, you learned that he likes his coffee sweet with flavored creamer, but he likes his tea black. You also learned that he only wears black socks and has a whole drawer filled with skull balaclavas. One night, you may or may not have stolen one after he passed out. It was all worth it though when you showed up to the team meeting the next morning sporting it.
As you entered the meeting room the next morning for the debrief, you came up to stand beside Ghost, who had his back turned toward you. The other members in the room raised their eyebrows but tried to hide their shock, as to not to give away Ghost’s surprise.
Smiling, you bumped shoulders with Ghost and said, “Damn, I really pull off your look, huh?” You grinned up at him, eyes bright, then turned back to the table to see all the other team members with their mouths slightly agape. Ghost glanced over at you, and his eyes widened slightly before going back to normal. He shook his head, “Fucking hell,” but not without you noticing the amusing glint in his eyes.
One morning you were eating breakfast in the dining hall, looking down at your book, when someone sat across from you. Usually, you ate alone, so it was a surprise to see Ghost sitting opposite of you with a steaming mug of coffee and a banana. You just smiled at him and went back to reading, and he ate his breakfast. No words were said, but every morning after that, you and the Lieutenant ate breakfast together. There was the occasional banter, but most times, you both enjoyed the quiet morning in each other’s company.
When you weren’t on a mission, you spent your time training and hanging out with the other team members on the base.
You typically trained with Soap, whether it be shooting or hand-to-hand combat. One day while you were on the mats sparing with Soap, he suddenly stopped, smirked at you and said, “I think you’ve got yourself an admirer, Swan.” With your brows furrowed, you looked up to see none other than Ghost leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you and Soap train.
You grinned and waved at him, and much to Soap’s surprise, Ghost waved back. Turning back to Soap, you shrugged and said, “He’s been helping me with my form.” Needless to say, you won the next round, and you didn’t need Ghost to remove his balaclava to know that he was smiling.
--
You and Ghost were experts at your jobs, that’s how you’re on task force 141 in the first place. That doesn’t mean every mission goes smoothly- as you soon found out on your next one.
You and Ghost finally reached the safe house. The only downside was that it was in the middle of nowhere and at the base of a snowy mountain, which did not help your worrying thoughts of making it through the night. Ghost unlocked the door and you both did a quick scan of the place to make sure it was all clear. Once you guys cleared the space, you groaned and plopped down onto the couch, finally finding respite for your injured leg. Although the mission was a success, you guys got banged up pretty bad, nothing fatal, but just worse enough for you to immediately collapse on the couch. Ghost seemed to be faring much better than you, he didn’t get shot after all.
You don’t want to glance down at your thigh, because you know you will be met with a mess of a wound and blood. So much blood. It’s a wonder how you managed to escape and make the trek to the safe house.
You have Ghost to thank for that; he covered your ass and helped you along the way. You guys had spent the last few hours switching between a walk and jog to get to the safe house, and away from enemy lines.
The first time you guys slowed to a walk, Ghost wrapped your arm around his neck to support most of your weight. However, this turned out to make it harder to walk because of the height difference between the two of you. He was a mountain of a man, and as much as you appreciated his attempt to help, it would have been quicker if you just limped along. “I’m going to need you to make it to the safe house, Swan. I can’t have you dying on my watch.”
“Copy that, Lt.” You grimaced, now feeling the full effects of being shot in the thigh. Just your fucking luck, you think.
“Riley, call me Riley.”
That was new. You never referred to him as anything other than Ghost or Lieutenant. Despite the immense amount of pain you’re in, you can’t miss the feeling of small sparks igniting in your tummy.    
Now seated on the couch and breathing heavily, you watch as Ghost removes most of his tactical gear, the skull mask included. Although, you conclude that he probably has at least two concealed weapons somewhere on his body. You try not to think to much about where they could be placed.
You finally bite the bullet and look down at your leg. “Fuck me.”
“How’s it looking?” You glance up to see Ghost towering over you. His hands are on his hips as he assesses your leg, but the fabric of your pants is making it hard to properly see the damage, even though your cargo pants are torn and bloodied where the bullet made contact with your body.
“Well, seeing that a bullet teared through the side of my thigh, my leg has seen better days.”
Ghost lets out a low chuckle, which you think you must have imagined. You must have lost too much blood; did he just laugh? That was also new. You’ve been on this task force for a little over two years, and despite what everyone would call you and Ghost’s acquaintanceship, borderline friendship, you’ve never heard the man chuckle, at least not at something you said. This mission is breaching all new kinds of territories for you both.
“Right. We need to get it cleaned, stitched and bandaged before it gets infected.” Ghost had already set down his pack by the fire place, so he goes back over there to retrieve the first aid kit.
“You’re not expecting me to take my pants off, are you?” Your question comes out breathy, the pain in your leg getting worse and you let out a low groan when you shift.
You think you hear a scoff fall from Ghost’s lips. “I can either cut your pants, so you’re left with only one pant leg, or, you can remove them and salvage what’s left.” When you hesitate to answer, he adds, “Don’t worry Swan, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Now it’s your turn to scoff. Typical man answer.
You cross your arms and think about your choices, well, lack of choices. Ghost is still turned from you, which allows the warmness that bloomed on your cheeks to reside. Now all that’s left is a scowl on your pretty face. Whether you’re scowling because of the effect Ghost’s words had on you, or the sucky situation you’re in, you don’t know.
Quite frankly, you don’t want to know. You can’t let yourself spiral into the abyss that harbors feelings for a certain 6’4 man; feelings that live at the bottom, just waiting to be unleashed. What you have going between the two of you is good, fine. Your quiet routine is the perfect balance between colleagues and friends, you can’t fuck it up now.
He turns around and makes his way over to you, his heavy boots rattle the floor and his tall stature intimidates you. You find that the small sparks start to ignite again and you hate yourself for it.
Damn you, Riley.
“So, what’s the verdict?” He’s back to looming over you, and you can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or not. His hands are back on his hips, as he awaits your answer.
Arms still crossed over your chest, you huff out, “Looks like I’m taking my pants off, Riley. Don’t enjoy it too much.”
He slightly shakes his head, but you can’t tell if he’s smiling or not because of the skull balaclava covering half his face. A part of you, buried deep down in that abyss, hopes that he is. But you’re only privy to his eyes. Which you’ve come to find hold all the weight of his emotions. You sometimes can’t help but get lost in them, trying to figure out all of the mysteries Ghost holds within him.
He turns around to give you some privacy, and takes off his jacket. You’re quick to remove your pants, wincing when the fabric brushes over your wound.
“You can turn around now.” Your quiet voice fills the room, and Ghost turns around slowly, and his jacket is clasped in his left hand. His eyes roam from your feet to your face, and you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s probably just assessing you to figure out how badly you’re actually hurt, but your heart can’t tell the difference, and it beats erratically in your chest.
You’ve haphazardly put your pants over your lower half, trying to cover yourself up, but it barely covers you. Ghost can still make out the top of your legs and the beginning of your underwear.
How embarrassing. The first time he see’s me in my underwear is in a grungy safehouse and I’m covered in dirt and blood.
He doesn’t say anything, and stretches his left hand out, his jacket swings towards you. You look up at him, brows furrowed and your mouth forms a slight pout. You don’t even have to ask before he’s muttering, “To cover up, your pants aren’t doing a great job and I’m sure you’re already cold.”
He locks eyes with you and you take the jacket from him, and your fingers briefly graze his, sparks getting brighter and brighter.
“Thank you, Riley.” He’s crouched down in front of you now, and you smile at him. You situate the jacket so it’s covering you up more, but leave the bullet wound uncovered so he can take care of it.
He looks massive even though he’s crouched on the floor in front of you. You’re still not taller than him even though you’re perched up on the couch. Your hands slightly twitch as you fight the urge to run them along his massive shoulders that are at the perfect height and distance for you to do so.
He takes his gloves off, and gets to work. When his hands first make contact with your skin, you slightly flinch. He glances up at you, and you smile sheepishly at him. “Cold hands.”
He lets out a grunt of understanding and gets back to cleaning the wound. Luckily the bullet wasn’t lodged in your skin so he didn’t have to go fishing for it, which would have hurt like a bitch.
You let out a hiss when the antiseptic touches your flesh, it stings so fucking bad and you’re trying not to cry. The last thing you want to do is cry in front of him, with no pants on.
Even though your leg is sizzling from the antiseptic, Ghost’s hands are gentle. One is holding your thigh, lightly grasping the inner part, as the other softly wipes the wound and blood surrounding it. You watch him as he continues and in no time, the wound is clean.
“You’re doing great little Swan, but here comes the hard part.”
You sigh and brace yourself for the stitching. You find yourself not caring if you cry anymore, you just want this to be over with. You’re cold, hungry and in pain and figure, there are worse things than to cry in front of him.
You don’t understand how someone with such big hands is so nimble and gentle, but Ghost sews you up quickly. There are tears in your waterline, on the precipice of trailing down your cheeks. One or two tears may have fallen, but you can’t recall because of the searing pain that courses through your outer thigh. The only evidence is the wetness that now coats your cheeks. If Ghost noticed, he didn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for.
He gives your leg a small pat, signaling that he’s done, then grabs the bandage. He wraps you up, and voices that you’re all set.
“Fuck, that was painful.” You sigh and rest your head back against the couch, forgetting that you’re pant-less, Ghost’s jacket doing wonders to keep your legs warm and cover your lower region.
Ghost stands, but before he walks away, you reach out a hand and lightly touch is wrist. Your small voice fills the room again, “Thank you, Riley.” The sincerity from you evident in your tired eyes.
Once again, his eyes lock on yours and he gives you a small nod, before heading to the bathroom to wash up. You take this as his way of giving you privacy to put your pants back on, which you do carefully, trying not to upset your wound.
Once you’re dressed you lay back on the couch. You close your eyes, his jacket draped over you. You remind yourself to return it to him, he must feel cold in his short sleeve shirt. I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.
*~*~*~*
The next thing you feel are your shoulders shaking. Then screaming. Who’s screaming? The shaking and screaming don’t stop and you feel yourself start to cry, worried about what’s going on.
“Y/n? Y/n, wake up!”
Huh?
You jolt awake, and only then do you realize it was you screaming bloody murder, and Ghost was shaking your shoulders to wake you from your night terror.
When you sat up, the blanket that was on top of you fell halfway off the couch. Wait, blanket? Since when did I have a blanket over me?
You’re breathing heavy and place your head in your hands, trying to hide the tears streaming down your face. Ghost is beside you, crouched on the floor and his hand rubs your back. Up down, up down. The feeling relaxes you momentarily, but you still feel on edge, your nightmare still prevalent in your mind.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Your voice croaks, and you wearily glance at Ghost, who’s eyes are already on you. One might say they hold concern in them.
“You did, but don’t worry about it, seriously. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” His hand continues to stroke your back, and he reaches his other to softly push back the hairs that cover your face, tucking the strands behind your ear.
You groan, and wipe your eyes, feeling embarrassed yet again. You’re still trembling from your dream, not able to shake the feeling. The nightmares only started a few months ago but they don’t come every night. They’re sporadic, which makes them feel scarier because you never know when you’re going to be hit with one.
Ghost lets you calm down, your breathing is back to normal now, but you’re still sniffling and avoiding his eye.
He stands up, and before you can voice out another apology, he softly says, “Come here.” And before you can fully process what he said, you feel his warm hands grasp you under your armpits and he lifts you up, pulling you against him. He shifts his hand so its resting under your thigh and signals with his other to wrap your legs around his waist. You lay your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder. Much to your chagrin, you’re still sniffling like a fool, and you let out a sigh. His embrace pulls you down like an anchor and you no longer feel like you’re treading through a flood of murky water. It calms and clears, and feels alleviating.
“You’re breaking my heart, little Swan.” Your only reply is tightening your arms around his neck.
He carries you to the bedroom, where he must have been before you woke him and lays you down in the spot where he was previously. You only know because it’s still warm and smells like him.
He climbs in after you and lays on his side to face you. You still look distressed, but much better than before.
It’s only when you drift your eyes up to his that you notice his mask is off. You notice a small cut near his eye. Reaching your hand out, you cup his face and your thumb glides back and forth over the cut. “You should have told me you got this.”
You feel the bed shift when he shrugs, “Didn’t want you to worry.” His deep voice pierces through you, poking the embers that rest at the bottom of your stomach.
Typical. “I always worry about you.” Your eyes flit to his as you confess this.
“Not as much as I worry about you.”
You bring your hand down to glide over his shoulder, then his down his bicep, then forearm. When you reach his hand, he intertwines your hand with his. His large hand almost completely swallows yours.
He pulls you closer to him, now there’s little to no space between you.
“It’s not a competition, Riley.”
“Simon, call me Simon.” He cups your face, then closes the distance between you and captures your lips with his.
--
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st-danger · 3 months
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Phantom breeding kink?
"You wanna?" The questions is huffed out between Dew pushing into him, sliding out. The slow drag of it is delicious. He could enjoy this, not push his luck too much, but Swiss tells him things, secret things, and what would be the point of a well lit path of breadcrumbs if he's not meant to follow?
Dew hesitates. Aeon looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes- the devil's always good about convincing folks he doesn't exist, right? Isn't that the narrative that's pushed here? So- innocent, sweet. Asking in a softer voice, the one that always gets Swiss, the one that sounds like silk. He knows he can look like an angel, even with his legs over somebody's shoulders.
Dew adjusts, so he can bring a hand, wrap it around his throat- holding. Warning.
"Watch it," he says.
Breadcrumbs, though.
"Swiss says it freaks you out," Aeon says. He knows he's pushing it, but he also knows Swiss would not feed him information that wasn't to be used. "Says it makes you cum really hard anyway." Dew continues to stare at him, and when Aeon feels his cock throb hard inside of him, he sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Coquettish.
"Is that what he says," Dew murmurs, tone unkind.
"I thought maybe you wanna try it from the other side," Aeon says. "I need it." Reaches for Dew's chest, and gives the rings in his nipples a playful little tug. "I think you do, too."
Dew scoffs, lets go of his throat, and leans back up, hooking his hands behind Aeon's knees. Aeon sees the cracks in his composure, even if Dew thinks he's being careful. There's been a few things he's gotten really good at Above Ground, and one of his best is working his way under Dew's skin in the best ways possible. Getting into his bloodstream and getting into his head. Dew's never stood a chance with him, has found him alluring and irresistible since the first hookup backstage when he'd shoved him against the door, stroking both of them off, kissing Aeon stupid in between telling him how impressed he was.
They hang suspended for a moment, and Aeon gives him his most beatific smile.
"Wanna knock me up?"
Dew is pulling out, flipping him over, and shoving him down before Aeon's brain catches up to what's happening. A hand on the back of his neck forcing his chest down, his ass up, presented. Dew slides back in without warning. A hard sharp thrust in that makes Aeon gasp with it.
"That what you want?" Dew's voice sounds weird. Tense. Strangled. Another hard thrust, and Aeon laughs, absolutely delighted. Maybe he'll buy Swiss some flowers. The laugh is cut off when Dew slams back in again, forcing the breath from him, and there's a hint of cruelty in it that sends a thrill up his spine. He doesn't wait for a response, just begins fucking into him harder and faster than he's expecting, or prepared for. Aeon startles.
"Dew-"
"I'm gonna," Dew grunts.
"S'really hard," Aeon says, of the pace, the force Dew begins railing him with. It isn't bad, but it's unexpected, and through the arousal, he feels the flicker-flame of nervousness bloom in the pit of his stomach.
"You want it, you're going to take it how I give it to you," Dew says, dark, and hits just the right spot, pushes on the back of his neck just a little harder. Pinning him further. Aeon moans, sharp and reedy. "You wanna be bred so bad? I'll give it to you, then," he says, and Aeon feels the fingers on his hips dig savagely in.
"Do it," Aeon says.
He realizes quickly he's over his head, and realizes just how much he likes it.
Swiss had left him breadcrumbs, but hadn't warned him about what, exactly, it would lead him to.
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xiaonruz · 6 months
Text
can't run forever
summary: Ghost chases you through the forest. that's it.
tags: Smut, dom!ghost, use of pet names; love, darling, bunny. outdoors sex, unprotected sex, reader gets spanked like once, gn!reader. (i think that's everything!)
word count: 1.3k (it felt like sm more)
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a.n: i felt so giddy writing this, this is only partially proofread
Your lungs burned and your legs ached, threatening to collapse under you at any given moment. yet the adrenaline kept you going. He was hot on your trail, the sound of his footsteps hitting the floor behind you was a taunt, a reminder of his speed and power.
he was trained for this, made for it even.
but so were you.
every second filled you with more determination, his earlier words serving as a motivation, for what? you weren't quite sure.
"you run... and if i catch you? well, you'll just have to find out, love."
You knew by his voice, by the whole situation what being caught would entail. The anticipation rested heavy in your stomach. Part of you wanted to get caught. The other part? Desperate to make him work for it.
or maybe just to prove you were better.
It's no secret you both had a competitive streak, silent, yet very much there. During training there was always a tension, who could get more shots? who could go the longest with out tapping out?
Silly little competitions that served as a motivation. fuelling the determination that ran through both of you. That's why you refused to let him win so easily now.
Yet you both knew he would win in the end. There wasn't a single doubt about it, his voice rang past the trees, you weren't able to determine an exact direction due to your constant running. somewhere south-west of you, you presume.
"c'mon darling. we both know you can't run forever." His voice trailed into a chuckle at the end. He was right, you knew it wouldn't be long now from the way your legs shook on each long stride.
each rustle of leaves and snapped twig under your feet always letting him know your location. Earlier it was the same for him, except now you were the only one making sound.
That was more intimidating than the heavy footsteps you swore you could hear just moments ago.
"shit-" You gasp, trying to turn your head to glance behind you, your eyes darting everywhere for even a sign of his whereabouts.
big mistake.
See, if you had just kept looking forward.. you would have seen him slip behind that tree. you would have been able to change directions and bolt away from him. You just had to look away, didn't you?
Just as you assume you've made some distance you feel the unmistakable sensation of his arm wrapping around the front of you, pulling you into his chest and flipping you both so your front is pressed against the tree.
He chuckles darkly, it's over. Theres no way to escape him as he presses up further behind you. Your squirming and desperate attempts to get away only making him push you harder into the rough surface of the tree.
"awe, my little bunny got caught?" He laughs again, the sound of him panting directly next to your ear. You're panting too, much more than he is. A reminder of his stamina, he could have kept going for hours if he needed. You on the other hand were basically at your limit.
"Ghost-" You try to speak but he shushes you, a hand in between your shoulder blades pushing your chest and face further, leaving you minimal room for movement.
"told ya'. You can't run forever, darling." He clicks his tongue, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. one of his feet push in between your legs, widening your stance.
With one hand still holding you firmly in place by the back of your neck, his other lifts his mask above his nose. Then it runs down your side to your hip, grabbing at the flesh firmly and tugging your hips back onto his erection. A groan reverberating in the back of his throat.
"now look what you've got yourself into..." He teases, his voice hoarse and filled with desire. His head dipping to nip at the skin of your neck, earning a whimper from you.
You can feel him smirk against your skin, he can practically smell your desperation, you push your hips back into him only to be met with a sharp slap to your ass.
"That's not how this works, bunny." He practically growls, his hand snaking round to your lower stomach, pressing down momentarily before dipping beneath your waistband.
"Look at you, makin' a mess already. v'not even touched you" He bites down on your neck, his hand working you up expertly, making you writhe and moan as he's done so many times before.
He works you up to the edge just to pull his hand away when you begin pleading, your hips buck for the friction that was so cruelly taken from you.
"not yet, love."
"not until i've had my fun"
He pushes your trousers down, leaving you bare to the cold air surrounding you. The sound of his belt and zipper seem to echo, the hand on the back of your neck pulling your head back.
He brings his other hand in front of your face, "Spit." His tone sends a shiver down your spine as you comply. Letting him use your saliva to lube his cock. His hand pushing your chest back into the tree,
you instinctively push your hips back, always so ready and eager for him. He fills you up in one sharp thrust, his grunt drowning out your moan.
He sets a ruthless pace, bullying his cock into your hole over and over, even as your legs shake and begin to buckle, his arm wraps around your stomach, holding you up at the angle he knows drives you both wild.
As you clench around him and your moans grow louder he chuckles again, shaking his head as he stops thrusting all together. snatching your release away from you again
you whine his name, he growls yours back.
"Not yet." His voice is low, filled with a dominance that always has you whimpering in response to.
"you don't cum until i tell you, got it?" He punctuates his words with a deep thrust, making you nod desperately. He hums approvingly. returning to his rough pace, the tip of his cock hitting the right spot repetitively, making your head spin.
His hand moves from your stomach down to your sex, providing you with more stimulation that has you begging for him to go easy, knowing you can hold back your orgasm much longer.
He only growls in return, biting down on your shoulder as a warning. The way he's fucking you could be described as purely self-serving. but his hand working you up proves otherwise.
as he chases his own climax he still gives you no permission for your own, but you just can't hold on any longer.
You whimper out his name as you cum, clenching down on him as your body tenses. He doesn't take much longer after that, pushing his cock as deep inside you as he can, filling you up.
You're both still panting heavily, his hand easing up on the back of your neck. He takes a minute to pull out of you, using his fingers to push his spend back inside of you.
He lifts his fingers to your mouth, which you welcome happily, licking the mix of your juices off with a moan.
He takes care pulling your trousers back up, the gently actions almost making him seem like a completely different person to just moments ago.
he spins you around, crashing his lips to yours for the first time since you started running. Biting your bottom lip as he pulls away.
"Don't think you're getting away with disobeying orders. I'll teach you your lesson later"
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More of You, Pt. 2
Part 1
Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC)
Word Count : ~ 2.4k words
Warning : tooth-rotting fluff and good ol’ cursings.
Title and story inspired by the song with the same title by JP Saxe!
*****
"--ra 4 this is– tcher-1 do y– copy?"
Jade opened her heavy eyelids at the sound. She blinked a number of times to wake herself up and find out where the voice came from. 
"Sierra-4 do you copy?"
She’d recognize that voice even if it was filtered a thousand times. Laswell's voice. It came from the radio that she had put on the bedside table the night prior as the CIA said that she'll contact her about the exfil for both of them. Finally. From the colours she got in her eyes, she could tell that it was early in the morning as the sunlight wasn’t present yet.
However, when she wanted to move her body to reach the PTT, a mass of weight seemed to hold her in place, and it was looming all over her back, even to her front. That was when Jade realized how she's not in the position she first slept in. Ghost was supposed to be on her arms with her arm as his pillow to support his neck. 
Now it's the opposite. She's on her opposite side, Ghost on her back, hugging her close to him while he placed his own arm on the bed to be her pillow, and he even covered her with the blankets, so beneath the sheets, their legs were entangled together. What's even more shocking was the fact that his other arm was on her waist and stomach, pressing her body to his. 
Jade wanted to scream right now. She was going implode on his arms from the situation she found herself in.
Ghost was surely still asleep judging by the sound of his steady breaths and his unmoving limbs as he absolutely needed all the rest he could get. However, Laswell's trying to comm her right now, and she needed to get out of his enveloping arms – yet her mind was adamant to do that as it was really warm and comfortable. 
"Jade. Can you hear me?"
Goddamnit. Dammit! Dammit!! Why now Kate?!?!
Jade tried to get out of his arms, try being the keyword here. She evidently failed to do so as Ghost kept on pressing her hips back to him, his voice rumbled lowly before going back to sleep. She tried to escape another time, but the result stayed the same. 
While she found herself very amused by his unconscious actions and how almost childlike he was while doing this, Jade needed to reply to Laswell, or else she'd think they were dead. 
And so, Jade lifted her upper body ever so slightly and leaned as far as she could to the bedside table while her lower body was still wrapped by Ghost's arm. He did mumble a bit, but Jade finally managed to reach the PTT, bringing the device close to her mouth, still laying on the bed. "Watcher-1, this is Sierra-4 I copy. Send traffic."
A sigh of relief could be heard. "I thought you were dead. What took you so long to reply?"
"I was uh… drying the clothes…" 
"Well, How's Ghost doing?" 
'He's currently asleep but he's hugging me from the back and he's refusing to let me go' was the thing she wanted to say, but instead, Jade only said, "He's alive."
"Okay. I've contacted Alejandro and his team to pick you guys up for exfil. He's currently on the way to the facility to clean the place and he'll be with you in any time now."
Oh. God bless Alejandro. She's missed him since the Las Almas missions. "Copy that. Thanks Kate."
"You're welcome. Bring him home safely, Jade."
"You know I will." She smiled. 
"Take care, Watcher-1 out."
Putting the PTT back to the wooden table, Jade huffed in relief. The fact that she just answered Laswell’s call while still wrapped around Ghost’s arm was such a comical scene, prompting a chuckle out of her. Alejandro’s coming very soon, and they really needed to get ready. She had to check his wounds, change his bandages, and then prepare for the Mexican colonel’s arrival. 
A light snore from her back interrupted her thoughts.
Wow. He’s deep deep in sleep. 
The woman smiled in amusement. He really was just a regular bloke, huh?
Really slowly, She rolled her entire body, finally facing Ghost in his sleeping state – No scowl in sight, his guard completely down. His light eyelashes rested on his eyelids perfectly. He’d admitted in Las Almas that he slept with his mask on ‘soundly’. She wondered if this was one of those rare moments where he slept with his mask off during a mission. This was probably the closest she’d been to his face, or anyone, really. Heck, this is probably the closest she’d been to any man. 
...He’s quite a gorgeous man up close. 
Realizing that she was starting to blush profusely against her will, she shook her head to delete that cloud of thoughts from her mind and focus on the task at hand. 
Putting her palm on his forehead gently, Jade felt relieved that he was not burning up like yesterday, albeit still warm to the touch. His bruises obviously needed some more time to heal, and now she needed to check his shoulder and side, and that required her to wake him up. 
He’s still snoring. 
Dammit she didn’t wanna wake him up!!
Suddenly, his snore hitched, surprising her. Right at that point Jade couldn’t think of anything to do. A part of her just wanted to back away and stand up, but what would he think? He'd think that she didn't want to be any close to him and that could not be farther from the truth. 
So she stayed frozen there, trying to stay still all the while Ghost woke himself up. And with a little groan, he finally opened his eyes, focusing his eyes before quickly finding Jade’s face right in front of his and how his arm was still on her waist.
Ghost’s eyes widened at the sight, quickly lifted his hand up and leaned back to distance himself, all without uttering a single word. And boy oh boy, she never expected to see the Ghost himself blushing profusely like this. Did anybody ever see this face of his? Another medal to her collection then.
“Sorry.” He muttered with a voice deeper than the depths of hell from sleep, looking to the side to see anywhere but her face or he knew he’ll be even more embarrassed. “Must’ve… moved in the night.” 
Jade let out a light chuckle, “Relax, it’s fine. I like it when you hug me though.” Whoa. Did she just say that??
His eyebrows lifted at that statement. “Really?”
Fuck it, she’ll just continue. “Yeah. And while we’re at it, don’t you have the most beautiful eyes.” Ghost would’ve exploded at that. “They’re like uh… Like a stream of light going through a glass of bourbon.” 
He couldn’t rack up any response to that poetic description of his eyes. “...Thanks. Picked them myself.” 
Her lip curved into a smile seeing him like this, “Where did you get those?”
Right at that moment, Ghost decided to just play along. “Down the market.”
“Yeah? How much did you pay for it?” 
“A few quid.” He replied, “What about yours? They’re the colour of… like a stream of light going through a bottle of Tanqueray Gin.” Ghost recited the same words to her, prompting them to laugh at each other. 
Trying to dial down her laughter, Jade answered back, “From the streets, so I got 100% discount.” 
That got a wheeze out of him. “You got your eyeballs from the streets?” 
Jade laughed out loud, “You got yours from the market! Which unfortunate bloke’s eyes did you buy?!” 
This was gonna be an inside joke between the two of them, they were sure of it. As they guffawed at each other’s jokes, Ghost lifted his hand to her cheek, making Jade flinch. He put his finger under strands of her red hair, before softly tucking them behind her ear, all the while she just stayed there watching him. God, she wanted to see him smile and laugh like this more. Didn’t feel like a few months ago that she heard him say that he had a ‘cold heart’. 
“Sierra-4, this is Victor-1 do you copy?” 
Out of nowhere, her radio buzzed, catching both of them off guard.
“This is Alejandro, Jade, Ghost, Do any of you copy?”
Shit shit shit. Jade forgot about Alejandro coming to get them an exfil. Ghost’s eyes widened as she urgently rolled over and sat on the bed, taking the PTT close to her mouth. “Victor-1, this is Sierra-4 with Bravo 0-7, I copy.” 
“Es bueno escuchar tu voz, Jade. Is Ghost okay?” The colonel asked with his usual gritty voice.
“Yeah, he’s solid. A little banged up, but you know how he is.” Jade answered while Ghost sat up on the bed. “Are you at the warehouse already?”
“Si, me, Rodolfo and the others are here, and madre de Dios, you didn’t leave a single body alive, huh.” Hearing those words, Jade looked back at Ghost who was checking his own injuries.
Looking back at Ghost's extraction from the facility yesterday, Jade only cleared the exterior and some goons on the first floor. The basement was crawling with Narcos, yet the injured, tortured, dehydrated and malnutritioned Ghost managed to kill his way out. This fact reminding her once again of how much of a beast the lieutenant was.
"We did what we had to do to get them off our tails.” Jade said to the PTT.
“As long as you both are okay, then I'm grateful. Thanks to Ghost’s hard work in locating this facility, we can cut out the supply.” Alejandro continued, “I’m coming to get you in 10. Can you be ready by then?” 
“Claro. See you in 10 then.” 
“Okay, Victor-1 out.” 
With that, Jade put her PTT back to the table, scooting aside to check on Ghost’s wounds. “Those hurt too much?”
“Not something I can’t bear.” Ghost looked to his shoulder. Some of the blood seeped and coloured the bandage into pink. It was a bad wound after all. 
After she finished re-dressing his wounds, Jade stood up and tidied up the table, taking the used portable bonfire and both ration packages, and putting them inside her backpack all the while Ghost slowly stood up, trying to hold his weight. He must admit that he’s still dizzy from all the blood he lost. If he’d been alone, he might have had to survive the wilderness of the rainforest alone, eating any animal he could hunt. Hell, that was only if he could get out of that warehouse alive with all the injuries that was inflicted upon him.
Jade turned around to find him standing up, holding the side where a bullet grazed him. “You good?”
“I’m fine.”
“Here, take it.” He looked down, finding his skull mask on her hand already cleaned from the blood and dirt, most importantly dry. “I put it beside the little fire all night. Looks good as new. Thought you’ll need it.” Jade smiled as she looked up to accommodate their height difference. If he were to be honest, he didn’t even realize that his face had been out in the open for so long. When was the last time he had his face open this long on a mission, outside, and spent a night with a woman like this? 
Still, he owed her so much after this one. She essentially saved his life.
Ghost smiled softly, taking the mask back and wore them over his head, finally covering his face. “Thanks, Lottie. I appreciate it.”  
“Anytime, Love.” 
Jade turned back to the table to tidy up and wear her gear, but Ghost could only stand dumbfounded at the word that just came out of her mouth. 
Love.
Thank the heavens he’d worn the mask already or she would find his face as red as her hair. Fuck. 
Well, at least that’s an improvement from ‘Beanpole’.
-----
Alejandro arrived ten minutes after his call with Jade driving an SUV alone. He found the safehouse after Laswell had given him the location. Alejandro was welcomed by Ghost and Jade already outside, gears on and ready to go. 
“¡Hola, Ghost, Jade!” Alejandro shouted to them as he stopped beside the wooden cabin, a wide grin on his face. He got off the car to approach Jade, who had the same grin on her face and hugged the woman as a greeting. Ghost's body tensed beside them.
“Cómo estás, Hermana.” The Mexican colonel said, patting Jade’s back in the hug.
“Muy bien, muy bien, Coronel.” 
Seeing Jade smile like that while in someone else’s embrace irked Ghost. Huh.
Alejandro leaned back, looking at the lieutenant up and down, “You good, Ghost?”
“Not dead yet.” He replied. 
“Good to see you alive, Hermano. If you both are ready, we can get out of here, and we’ll get you both home.” 
Something clicked in Jade’s mind. “Oh, Lord. I forgot one of my knives under the bed. Sorry, can I go back for a sec?” 
“Sure.” Alejandro replied, leaning back to the side of the car before Jade walked towards the warehouse to find her blades.
As both men waited, the Mexican glanced at Ghost, who was staring at the woman’s back as she walked her way to the cabin. He knew that since the Las Almas mission, something was going on between these two Brits, prompting an amused scoff out of him. 
“Told you not to get lost.” 
The Brit flinched and looked at Alejandro, a small smile on his lips. He remembered the last thing that he’d said before leaving Las Almas along with the rest of 141. 
‘¡No te pierdas, Carnal!’
Ghost only scoffed, shifting his weight to his leg, recalling a conversation he had years ago with Price back in the SAS base.
**
“You ever think about settlin’ down, Simon?”
“....No.”
“Maybe we’ll break a leg, get shot, and our career’s over. Think you’ll find yourself a woman?”
“...She’s got to be one crazy bird, then.”
A wheeze from the captain, “Takes crazy to love crazy, innit.”
“If only there’s a woman insane enough to love me.”
**
With the sight of Jade running back their way with the said knife, Ghost turned to Alejandro, surprising him a little bit as he didn’t expect Ghost to say anything, saying,
“I’m found, Hermano.”
The Mexican colonel laughed at Ghost’s response and patted his back. “That you are. Now let’s get you home.”
fin
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WOOHOO! There it goes! Hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and replies are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)
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soapyghost · 1 year
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NEW GHOST SKIN!!
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Look at his silly little dad sunglasses. I love him.
“Gotta grab my sunglasses before crashing the car on my way to pickup Johnny from football”
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miserycanary · 4 days
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WHAT YOU'RE MEANT TO DO ᡣ𐭩
pairing: alpha!Simon 'Ghost' Riley & workcaholic omega fem!reader
synopsis: you've lived your whole life without any problems due to the status of being beta, and you liked it that way. It doesn't interfere with your work, and suddenly you're informed you're an omega? That can't be.
tags: small arguments, smut like.. actually, dumbification, slight size kink, belly bulge, hair pulling, praise, degradation, breeding kink??, daddy kink, slight overstimulation if you squint, spit kink if you live in delusions
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You had a routine you religiously followed. The day starts with waking up at 4, never having trouble getting up because you always look forward to work. You leave the apartment you share with your boyfriend at 5:15— maybe later than that when Simon feels clingy and asks you to stay for that day. You’ll indulge for 5 minutes before pressing a kiss on his chapped lips, promising you’ll come home early for him which seems to satisfy him. 
Now you knew something was wrong when you woke up, exhausted, and all your bones weighed like a ton. Thinking back to last night, the clock displayed 10:15 when you finally resigned to bed, even unable to satisfy Simon (which he understood), opting to cuddle with you and nosing around your neck.
Your groan woke up Simon, his muscled figure making the bed creak as he followed your figure almost dragging itself to the bathroom. “Sweetheart?” he calls out, worry evident in his voice. “I’m fine, baby. Just feeling a little under the weather. Nothing some meds won’t fix,” the reassurance slips off your tongue easily despite all the alarms in your mind begging you to rest. 
Your breathing got labored as your body tried to function. Your lover seems to have taken your word for it and went back to sleep, making you crack a smile.
Finally, you managed to get ready.. at 5:40. On the way, you could feel stares pointing at you. Did you smell? ‘Did I shower? I.. forgot. No, no... I did..’ you think to yourself, putting your things down on the table and letting your legs rest. “What kind of fucking sickness is this?” mumbling to yourself. Your eyebrows furrow, cursing at the world and complaining about the medicine not taking effect. 
Time seemed to go fast but unbearably slow. It seemed like you could only recognize snippets throughout the day. Next thing you know, you hear your boyfriend’s worrying voice coming from your phone. Since when did you call? Nevermind. You hung up. Your mind flashes forward and the bright shine of your laptop looks back. For quite some time, you don’t recall moving, just looking dazed. ‘Water. I need water’ You finally snap back to reality, standing up. The world suddenly swirled and you found yourself on the floor. 
‘Oh, shit. I-I need to get up... Fuck, my legs won’t move'
Tears swelled in your eyes, feeling helpless as people started to crowd you. Amid the commotion, a thundering voice booms out, calling for you. “Y/N!” Suddenly, all you could feel was the cool feeling of your boyfriend’s skin on yours. His scent fills your senses. God, you could live off this. “Babe.. why are you here?” you look at him, sighing in relief when you feel his palm pressed against your cheek. “You called me, slurring your words.” His voice was so deep and rough, you thought. Involuntarily, you squeezed your legs when you felt something gush in between. Your period? No, no.. too early. Unaware, everyone seemed to catch up to what’s wrong with you. Everyone rushed to distance themselves from you when Simon held you protectively, hiding you away from everyone and glaring at those who seemed to look at you like prey ready to be devoured. 
Before you lost consciousness, all you could think of was you forgot to save your document. Then the next thing you wake up to is your apartment’s ceiling and the clattering from your kitchen with heavy footsteps. You could only assume it’s your boyfriend trying to cook. “Ghost..?” you call out, voice hoarse. In an instant, he was by your side with water in hand. “Hi, baby,” he starts, pushing the glass near your lips. You whine when you can’t even move to take a sip, and he melts at that. With gentleness, he tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls your head back, tilting the glass. “Open,” he commanded, which your body seemed to obey, your mouth opening and letting the cold water relieve your parched throat. As some droplets escape and cascade down your cleavage, you moan as it momentarily relives the heat your skin radiates. 
“Love...” your boyfriend starts with the tone you know he uses when it’s about something that will upset you. “You’re required by the doctor to stay home for 2 weeks,” he continues, which finally tips you off. “No! I-I have a project due in 5 days, okay? I just need some paracetamol.” Insisting, you move to get up but you feel your boyfriend’s palm on your waist pinning you down. “No, bunny. You’re staying.” You glare at him in return. A part of you was aware that he was doing this for your sake, but you were too stubborn to let him. “Ghost, stop. I’m not in the mood for any lovey shits, okay? Just let me be,” you snap. Usually, when you get this pissed, he lets you be and just rushes by your side when you inevitably pass out due to over-exhaustion. This time, he doesn’t. 
His stare was firm and commanding unlike the usual. Your Simon was soft, always there to clean up your mess. He never forces you to rest nor to listen to him— even if it is for the better. “Bunny, it’s not normal sickness, okay?” he still calmly explains, brushing the stray hair away from your face but you only slap his hand away, still frustrated. Seeing that you’re getting an attitude, he sighs and kisses your temple. “Do you know what your secondary gender is?” At his question, you stare at him like he asked you if you know the sky is blue. “Fucking hell, Ghost. Of course! I told you this the moment we met. I’m a beta, okay? Can you let me go now?” you hissed, attempting to raise his heavy hand of your hand yet he persisted and pressed harder. “No, princess,” he looks away in contemplation. “I rushed you to the doctor earlier. Your testing was a mistake. You’re a freshly developed omega and it was advised you.. naturally, let your heat happen.” 
There were a few beats of silence before you cackled, tears forming in your eyes. “Yeah, right, babe. As if. Can you just fucking let me go?” The news of you being an omega sounded fake— because it is, you scoff. “I’m not joking,” he mumbles with a new profound authority. After realizing he was serious, everything came crashing down on you. This couldn’t be. You loved being a beta. It doesn’t interfere with your life. You can’t be an omega. You can’t! No, it’s fake. This was a joke! Heats?? You?? No, no. That’s not true– 
“Y/N! Breathe!” Simon’s voice snapped you out of your haze, looking down to see your nails pressed so hard on his skin that’s letting out droplets of blood. Sobs were robbed out of your body, refusing to accept the change in your, yelling at your boyfriend to let you go. His figure immediately wrapped itself around you, pressing your face on his chest and nuzzling your head. “Calm down, bunny. It’s fine... Just calm down,” he soothes, putting his hand under your shirt to rub circles on your burning skin, and trying to get your breathing to match his. His shirt was drenched with tears but he didn’t mind. He muttered endless praises in your ear about how brave you are, and how you’ll be fine because he’s there. Ghost is there for you.
“I’m here, sweetheart” he cooed, pressing a kiss on your ear and laying the both of you down on the bed. He covered you entirely with his figure, protecting you from the world. With a final hiccup, you lose yourself to sleep and exhaustion, settling down and letting yourself be vulnerable with him with his pheromones blanketing your senses as if he’s the only thing there.
Waking up with a gasp, a layer of sweat covered your whole body when your attention was suddenly redirected to the wet spot below you that seemed to seep into the bedsheets. Hot panic took you over and you suddenly felt ashamed. Did you pee yourself out of nervousness? Clamouring, you stumble as you try to wipe the spot away, whimpering when another sudden gush dripped down your legs which woke Simon.
“Sweetheart? What’s up with ‘ya?”
You cry, rushing to his side and throwing yourself at him while apologizing profusely. “I-I’m sorry! Baby, I’m sorry... Please forgive me. I didn’t know!”
“Calm down, calm down.. tell me what’s happening,” his voice immediately calmed you down, your hands still clenching tight on his shirt and sticking your face in his scent gland. In an instant, the strong smell of whiskey, ground, and cigar invaded your nose but you welcomed it. The aroma calms down your nerves and allows you to talk without tumbling over your words. “I-I.. peed,” you mumble in shame that surprised your lover, but it seems the situation clicked in his head and he only responded with a chuckle. 
“No, baby... You didn’t pee,” he sighs, grabbing your waist and sitting you sideways on his lap, while he scoots backward to lean on the headboard. “It’s something omega releases in substitution to lube,” he starts his hand slowly peeling away your shorts, revealing your soaked panties. “This is slick,” his finger swipes along the covered lips of your pussy, a string sticking to his pad. He brings his soaked fingers near you, when the smell suddenly hit him. You smell like cherry-fucking-pie.
‘Fuck, she smells so sweet. No, I need to be patient. It’s her first heat’ he thinks while he watches your eyes observe with fascination. He nosed around your scent gland taking in your pheromones that sent blood rushing to his dick. His hand pulls your panties to the side to directly flick on your clit, pressing his thumb down and circling. You whimper, holding onto his shirt as your legs instinctively close. Everything was heightened. It felt like you’d come any minuted just from your clit getting pressed down.
“Spread them.” As if your body was possessed, your thighs separate, allowing Simon to completely slip off your underwear and press a single digit inside of you. The reaction was instant. Your back arches and your toes curl in pleasure, red chipped nails digging into his bicep, but he was too immersed in watching your pretty cunt take what he gives you to even care. “Good girl,” he praises, pressing his lips against your ear. Tilting your head to the side, you attempt on taking cover on hid bicep, but Ghost only grabs your face, tilting it back. 
“Daddy needs to hear you, princess”
Your moans got higher as he added another finger and pumped them, borderline abusing your cunt. But you needed this. How else will you take your alpha’s massive cock? Looking down on you, he melts as babbles and whines were the only things you could muster. Your body writhes in pleasure, eyes rolling back in pleasure. “S-Simon! I’m... a-ah!.. close!” Feeling your release climbing, your pussy clenches around his digits while urging him to go faster; just a little more push to your climax. A scandalized gasp was ripped out of you when he suddenly stopped completely. “No, how do you ask to cum properly?” his voice grumbles, squishing your cheeks while your face is soaked with tears. “I wanna cum, Simon. Please please please–” he cuts you off, tightening his hold on your face and pressing his thumb hard on your clit. “No, not Simon.”
With that, you finally realized the key to your release. “Daddy, please. I wanna cum, please. P-put your fingers in again. Daddy, please” you whine, a hand releasing his bicep to place itself on his nape, pulling him down so you can messily press a kiss. Satisfied, he plunged 3 fingers in, forcing your cunt to take it. “There we go. Was that so hard, princess? Was it hard being polite to daddy?” he teases, pressing down on your sweet spot. His tongue licks around your mouth, sucking on the wet appendage and letting his saliva trickle down into yours.
You felt so tight around his digits, and the thought of how you’ll feel around him made his cock ache. The hard-on pressing against your lower back which lifted as the coil inside of you snapped. He watches with adoration as you soak his fingers and the bedsheets, a sense of accomplishment bubbling up inside his chest, making precum dribble out of his tip and stain his sweatpants. “Good girl,” the praise slips off his tongue absentmindedly as he sneaks a hand behind you, untying his pants and pulling it down just enough for his cock to spring free.
Still high from pleasure, he manhandles your body to the position he wants. Pushing your body forward so your face is planted on the sheets with your hips resting on two-stacked pillows. Amid pleasure, you got brought back when overstimulation ran through your nerves, feeling Ghost’s cock fill you up, inch by inch. You didn’t even realize when he had taken his bottoms off. The only thought running through your head was him, his smell, his overpowering pheromones, and his cock. God, his cock was driving you crazy.
“Babygirl, you need to loosen up,” he orders, slithering a hand under you to swirl around your clit. “No!.. oh! s-sensitive!” you whine, sobbing onto the pillow. “I don’t care, sweetie. You had your fill, now daddy needs his. Won’t you be a good girl and help me? I promise I’ll reward you,” he mutters, his chest pressing on your back. Driven with the need to be good for him, you let your cunt relax to take him in.
Slowly rutting his hips, he tries to thrust more of his cock inside of you. “Slowly, baby. Breathe for me. There we go. Perfect,” he groans, pressing his forehead on your nape when he finally felt himself completely buried inside your hot, wet cunt. “Such a perfect pussy. You want to make me proud, don’t ya?” You only whine in response, then a loud moan ripped out of you when you felt a subtle bulge on your stomach which got pressed down onto the pillow under the weight Ghost was putting down you. “Fuck, you’re so small, aren’t ya? Such a perfect cocksleeve. What a behaved slut for me.” Without a warning, he snaps his hips, thrusting in and out of you without mercy; like a carnal animal with the intent to just breed. God, this is heaven. This is where he’s supposed to be. With you, inside of you.
“I’m gonna fill you up so good, ma” he moans, your voice matching his. “Ah-ah-ah! Fast! Too fa— oh! Too fast,” you sobbed yet it felt so good. Every sense of yours was drowning with the thought of your mate, of Simon. You were so lost in pleasure, hands sprawled out on the sheets and gripping, trying to crawl away from the overwhelming pleasure. Ghost only clicks his tongue, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you back, filling you to the brim again.
“Daddy was too lenient on you huh? Maybe I need to keep you here. You won’t ever need to use that pretty head of yours, worrying about nothing, sweetie. I’ll do everything for you, okay? Your alpha will do everything for you.” You feel him pull back with the tip catching on your rim. As if given a break, you take a breath but suddenly everything was knocked out of you when he bottomed out with one thrust.
“F-fuck, you feel amazing. You just need to be good to me, okay? You just need to be a good mama for our children, stay at home, and let me use your pretty pussy when daddy needs to relieve stress” Pinning your waist down, it was like he actually sees you as a personal cocksleeve, using your body for his own release.
Thrusting faster, Ghost’s moans start to pitch higher, his hand tangling itself in your locks to pull your face from the pillow. Locking lips, he moans louder while pressing down on the bulge in your stomach, helping him get closer from the fact you’re so small— so easily to manhandle and to use freely. Maybe he should actually just keep you here. You won’t need to work. No need to stress that pretty head of yours over trivial stuff. He just needs you to stay with him.
The thought of you being swollen with his baby and staying inside the apartment waiting for him was the final thing that sent him to the edge. His tip spurting out cum filled you up to no end, kissing the entrance of your womb as he buried himself as deep as possible. Your hands scramble to hold onto something, afraid to get lost in the pleasure; scared of being a slave to the mind-numbing pleasure. You dig your nails on his thigh, sobbing and moaning in pleasure as his release triggered another of yours. Feeling so full, Ghost finally stopped cumming and lets you go. His spent body collapsing alongside you in exhaustion. Silence ensued between you guys, basking in each other’s presence. After a while, he got up to grab a towel to clean you up, knowing you’d be insatiable once your omega instincts completely settled.
Feeling his lips kiss your temple, his rough yet sultry deep voice (or maybe that’s just your love for him talking) telling you to relax made you purr. As you watch him take care of you, scrubbing down both yours and his spent off your body got you thinking. Maybe this is where you’re supposed to be. Doing nothing but behaving for your lover, keeping Ghost happy.
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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: AHHHH!! It's my first full-length fanfic which happens to be my very first explicit and descriptive smut. Please be gentle with the criticisms!! Also, do you guys want a König version? Please comment if yes.
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lilywastaken · 1 year
Text
⇝ shadow .
Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.
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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!
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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.
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killerpancakeburger · 10 days
Text
Imagine: Ghost giving you the shovel talk after Soap and you made your relationship official
It's the evening, you two are smoking outside in companionable silence, taking in the star-spangled sky. Suddenly his voice pulls you out of your daydreaming.
"So... you n' Johnny, eh?”
You feel an ominous shiver run down your spine - you do not like the turn this conversation is taking. His tone is steady, like it usually is, but it means nothing when that specter is involved. He could be slicing a throat and his voice wouldn't waver a iota.
If there was anything you learned about The infamous Ghost, in the absence of his identity and the face beneath the mask, it was that the names he used for the people he considered his family were anything but random. Soap was the most common way he refered to his Sergeant, but a Johnny could slip here and there. "Johnny" was personal; intimate; vulnerable; and possessive all at once. Not in the way an insecure lover would act - although...? Maybe...? -, but in the way a pack member would bare his fangs at a newcomer to protect his mates.
There was something animalistic buried within him that would resurface from time to time, when the risk was too great, when the survival of the 141 or of any of its members was jeopardized. Something you would not risk to vex. Simon was extremely protective behind closed doors, it wasn’t a scoop, but you thought yourself safe from his fangs... or at least you did until now.
"Yeah?"
How you hate the interrogation in your voice. As if you were seeking his permission. Like a child knowing they're asking for too much but doing it anyway.
You busy yourself with your cigarette, trying to look unfazed.
"He may sound like a fuckin' playboy most of the times, but he's actually a sensible kinda fella. Doesn't go around givin' his heart to just anyone, y'know?"
You gulp. Take a deep breath. The only way out is through. Might as well be done with it.
"So, is this the part where you swear that no one will ever find my body if I hurt him?"
You're proud of how casual you managed to sound.
He actually chuckles at that. A relaxed, raspy, unbothered kind of sound. Maybe you will walk away with your life tonight after all.
"Got it all figured out, don't ya? But that's good. Saves us some time."
He tosses his cigarette and, for the first time since you’ve been outside, he turns to you and look you in the eye. His stare is as intense as ever.
"We're in agreement, then? Ya'll treat mah boy well?"
"Wouldn't dream of anything else."
"Good lass."
A pause, then:
"This works both way, y'know that, right?"
"Hmm?"
Too busy celebrating your escape from the valley of the shadow of death, you haven't been completely paying attention.
"If he gives ya trouble, I'll knock some sense into that thick head of his."
You look at him again, your face beaming and your chest tingling with a newfound joy.
"Thank you."
You smile, unable to stop the motion of your lips. Your gratefulness is not for the threat he proclaimed, but for the friendship he extends to you.
He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.
Suddenly a burly arm wraps around your neck.
"What were ya guys talkin' about!? You’ve been there for ages." Pouts Soap.
Glancing over at Ghost, you can see that Johnny has tried to grab him by the neck too, with a lukewarm success, considering the height difference between the two of them.
"Nothin' ye need to concern yerself with", retorts Simon, lying as easily as he breathes.
As Johnny turns to you in hopes of finding an easier target that will confess everything, you nearly miss the conspiratorial wink Ghost sends your way. The action is so far removed from his usual character, you understand that the discrepancy is made to amuse you. So you giggle.
Tonight the sky is full of stars, and your heart full of bliss, the way you feel like your chest might burst with happiness at any moment, with those two men at your side.
A/N: Platonic!Reader x Ghost my beloved 😫 🖤 Tried to make Ghost the less OOC as possible, as usual >_< but man its not a walk in the fookin park.
Trouple potential tho? 👀 sorry not sorry, I can't help it, I love the ambiguity...
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