#ghost hurt

[juvenillia]

~ happier ~ Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader [hurt/comfort oneshot]

summary: After Simon already had lost so much in life, he now had lost the last thing that kept him whole. Little did he know...

a/n: Hey babes, I just saw a tiktok sound about the "don't choose him"-trope and I thought that was so Simon Riley coded so yeah, here we go

cw/tw: mentions of trauma, death, jealousy, guilt, hurt/comfort, tooth rotting fluff, break up, happy ending

worcount: 5.9k (maybe I got a bit carried away lol)

》 Read on AO3 《 》Master Post《

It was a rather rainy September afternoon, the cold breeze brushing through his messy blonde hair as he stood in front of his apartment complex. The taxi just dropped him off a while ago, and since then he stood there. Starring at the entry, his hand clutching tight on his duffel bag. With a deep sigh his hand brushed through his damp hair while he inhaled the fresh autumn air through the simple black mask before finally stepping in. He didn’t want to come back. He didn’t want to leave but Price literally chased him away this time. The team just came back from a long deployment from God knows where, and he wanted to stay at base. Taking care of the aftermath as usual, but this time his Captain didn’t keep up with his coping mechanism and ordered him to go on leave.

He hadn’t set a foot in his apartment in the past nine months. Nine months filled with hard and bone crushing work to distract himself. Distracting himself from the void that washed over him as soon as the door behind him fell into the lock. He placed his bag onto the floor of his hallway when he saw the huge stack of mail behind the door. Invoices, advertisement, acknowledgements, all that kind of stuff. He didn’t even mind to flip through the envelopes, just threw them onto the kitchen counter. His place felt so different, nearly chaotic.

The plants died some time ago, nothing more than dry remnants in some soil. He opened the fridge, which was nearly as empty as this whole space felt like. A thick layer of dust covered everything. Another sigh left his throat before he pushed the crystalline door to the little balcony open, fished in his pockets for a fag. Pulling his mask down to ignite the cigarette. His glance wandering over the park next to the building. All the trees already wore a dress out of red and yellow leaves which danced in the wind. He could hear some children playing down there, some dogs barking. Somehow everything felt so at peace and still he felt nothing more than blank. He felt like a stranger in his own home.

He put the fag out and decided to tidy the mess up, before distracting him with whatever task he could find. He started with cleaning the whole place, disposing the dead plants and expired food he found in the last corners of the fridge. It took him some hours before everything was all over neat again. He then changed in some casual clothes before walking down to get some groceries for the time he had to stay here now. Always checking his phone for a message from Price, or Gaz or Soap. Anything that could make him return to his duties. Anything that would release him from the thoughts that started to haunt his mind. Thoughts he could easily dismiss as soon as he was on duty. When he was Ghost, but not when he was here.

“Mr. Riley?”, the old man from the store greeted him. He nodded in response, tired and exhausted eyes, yet a sincere smile on his lips. “Good to see you again, son.”, he chimed while starting to scan his products in. There was a huge supermarket around the corner, still he would always walk the extra meters to that indigenous small store owned by that old couple. “Haven’t seen you in forever. Must be happy to be back.”, Simon only nodded. A straightforward lie, but he didn’t need to tell him about the truth. He hated to be back.

Because everything was different to the last time. The last time he walked down this street he laughed while you complained about your coworkers. Clutching to the bag filled with the ingredients for some homemade cookies, and your favorite ice cream, while your hand was wrapped around his upper arm. When did all that changed? When did the world turned against him once more? That’s how he found himself walking that usual path back on his own. Left alone with the sheer thought of you, and once more his mind did haunt him. Replaying the image of the face when you told him over and over again in front of his inner eye.

But he understood your decision. He knew he was wrong for you, that you deserved so much better. He knew that he had ruined an angel. All the time waiting for him, just to be put down once more, when he couldn’t return home just yet. All the anxious calls before the deployment. The number of desperate messages he went through when he could turn his phone on again afterwards. All the tears you wasted for him. He just knew he would never be the man you needed, because you were so much better than him. And still he wanted nothing more than to be selfish and return home to you once more. The way his shitty apartment felt so much livelier filled with your laughter and complains. A privilege he had lost.

He remembered the day you told him about your decision like he remembered his morning drill at base. You mascara already smudged over your tear-stained face. He had promised to never be the cause of your crying and still he stood in front of you, feeling nothing more than hate towards himself, when you told him you couldn’t go on like this. “I love you, Si. I do… but sometimes love isn’t enough…”, your words echoed through his mind as he stood in the living room. Just on the same spot he stood on that fateful day. “What’d ya mean?”, he didn’t understand. “I mean… that I can’t be part of your life when you keep building walls around you.”, your voice was shaky between the sobs that broke out of your throat. “Wait... Love…”, his hands were nonstop shaking, something so uncommon for his so usual steady hands. Hands that were reaching out to you when you literally flinched away from him.  “I hope you can become happy. I really wish you all the best…”, the tears started to stream down your face as you picked up the bag, filled with the last few things of yours that still remained in his place. “I’m thankful for everything we had…and I hope you know that you’ll always be a part of me.”, you didn’t dare to look at him as you left his -your shared- place.

How was he supposed to be happy when you took all the crazy little things that made his life better with you? Anytime his phone buzzed that night his heart stopped for a moment, hoping that you changed your mind, but now you already left his life for more than eleven months. He sunk into the couch, just like that evening. Not daring to move an inch. Even if all fibers in him screamed to run after you, he sat there frozen. Respecting your decision and knowing it was for the best. It was the best for you, and he never wanted anything less than the very best for you. Even if it meant to break him once more. This evening was the loneliest night after the night when he lost his family. That night he lost the last thing that gave him a meaning. The last thread that hold his pieces together.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened your chat. The last message still there, about eleven months ago. A bone crushing reminder of when you left his life. Just then he took noticed of your new profile picture. The pure soul you were, you hadn’t blocked him. He tapped it open and could feel his heart ache as he took in your features, a bright smile. A smile that had him mesmerized from the first time he witnessed it. Your hair neatly done and braided with a flower crown made from white roses. Your hand trying to cover your gorgeous smile. Then he suddenly took notice of something new. His heart clenched at the view of the little simple silver band around your left ring finger. A groan vibrated in his stomach. He stared at the picture, as a rope laced around his throat. It couldn’t be. He just cursed to himself.

He just wished it wasn’t true, but it just made sense. During the times when he raised his walls higher and higher you simply turned around to see the whole world and not only him. And there was someone that could treat you better than he ever could. That there was someone who would share his life with you rather than shutting you out. Someone who wouldn’t treat you as shitty as he did. Someone who wouldn’t take you for granted. Someone who wouldn’t make you cry, and still he wanted to be the person to call you his. He wanted that this smile, the smile that could brighten the darkest day, was aimed at him and not just some random dude.

He needed to make sure. Sitting up from the couch while leaning his forearms on his knees as he switched from the message app to his private Instagram account. An account Kyle forced him to create after one night in the pub. On that night when Simon maybe drunk a bit too much, he eventually had let slipped that he did meet you and Kyle was all alerted to get this to workout. So of course, he needed an Instagram account to seem more likable. And to be honest, Simon wanted to be likeable, for the first time he did care what someone would think of him. As long as that somebody was you.

The next morning he decided to go for a run and ran a few kilometers around the quarters. Longer than usual, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. All sweaty he stopped by a common coffee shop to get a well-made coffee before returning home. Just when he waited in line for him to order, he pulled his phone out once more. Starring at your name in his contacts. ‘Love’ was still written there. He never brought himself to change it. Because you still were the only thing, he ever admitted to truly love. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice a voice approaching him. Just as he felt a small hand gently on his clothed shoulder he flinched, looking up and were greeted with some way too familiar eyes. He blinked a few times, believing his mind would trick him right now.

His account didn’t contain many pictures, a few from nice landscaped taking from the different countries he had to visit, one of Riley and him, what served as your screensaver for a very long time. Well not anymore, he supposed. He searched for your tag, and he scrolled through the last pictures you uploaded. Nowhere was a hint of a new guy in your life. Except for the picture of your engagement ring and the dozen words of congratulations the comments contained. Some pictures of the recent books you read always placed aesthetical next to a cup of tea, a picture of you and your girls on a night out.

He just stopped when he saw a familiar picture. It was nothing more than you curled up in an armchair, wearing a black hoodie, his hoodie. You haven’t deleted it. He was still part of your life, as you had promised. You didn’t just delete him out of it. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he put his phone away. Fighting the urge to write you. But what should he even message you? Everything would be inappropriate and wrong. That it was his biggest mistake to let you go? That he was happy for your engagement? Nothing would satisfy his real emotions. He pushed all of those thoughts, all the pain down just like he was used to and let Ghost take over his mind. Cutting out everything around him, as his body forced him to rest. A dreamless night on the couch and still he felt miserable the next morning.

“Si?”, you smiled at him, as beautiful as ever and he stood there completely stunned. You still called him that sweet nickname, the short only you were allowed to use. “Hey…”, he breathed out while shoving his phone back into his pocket. Leaving his hands in his pockets, to scared you could see how nervous he was. Seemed like that he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he jogged all the way to the place you worked back when you two dated, and as it seemed like you still do work here. There was a silence clinging between both of you, while taking in each other. He looked tired, somehow older you noticed. You looked as pretty as he remembered. “Sir?”, the voice of the young barista dragged him back to the place he stood. “Yeah…uhrm.”, he ordered his usual coffee, and quickly added another hot drink – your favorite - before turning back to you.

“How are ya?” – “How are you?”, both of you said at the same time and a little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. All of that felt so familiar, and still vicious at the same time. But sorrow was something Simon was used to it, and if this pain granted him some time in your presence, he’d gladly accept it. “Wanna take a seat, or are ya on the run?”, you smiled at him and shook your head no, while taking a place at one of the tables. A table you often sat when he visited you during your work breaks. “So, how are you?”, you said calm, while sipping on your coffee. A weak smile playing around your lips when you realized that he even remembered the little flavor drop you loved in it.  

You had such a pure soul that you simply could sit down with him and talk to him, like he wouldn’t be your ex. Just as some good old friends catching up. It broke his heart even more. “Steady.”, he answered somehow distant. Trying to suppress all the emotions that started to boil in the pit of his stomach at your sight. You nodded with that sweet smile he knew too well, “Always the same, huh?” He nodded and at the same time he wanted to argue that he wasn’t the same. Not at all. “So, when’s ‘e big day?”, his sudden question let you swallow on your drink. He pointed at the ring on your finger, and you sighed. “Saturday, in two weeks.”, you only said. There laid something between your tone he couldn’t read, so he only nodded once more. “Didn’t ya wanted a white winter wedding?”, he kept the eye contact when you tried to avoid it at all costs. “Cannot have everything.”, you weakly laughed. A laugh that had hidden so much more below the surface. Simon caught how your voice changed and your hands constantly fidgeted with the cup, but he didn’t want to push it any further. The silence once more taking over the space between you. It was an awkward tension laying in the air. Still, he wanted to ask you so much, wanted to tell you so much, yet he couldn’t.

That’s when your phone went off, a sigh of relief but at the same time annoyance left your throat. “Sorry… need to head back. Before…” – “Before Mara lets the printer explode and Barry loses his mind.”, he ended your sentence and a vicious smile tugged at your lips. How could he still remember all those things. “Yeah… it was nice to see you, Si. Thanks for the coffee.”, the painful smile turning into a genuine one. He hummed in appreciation, as you stood up and putting the phone back into your pocket.

Just then he reached out to you to get hold of your wrist, gently but firm, just when you wanted to walk away. “Don’t marry him…” The phrase left his throat out of nowhere. His mouth faster than his brain could even process what he just said. He couldn’t carry this anymore, he let you go once, he wouldn’t commit to the same mistake a second time. You blinked at him in sheer shock. “Don’t do that to me…”, you shook your head, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. “Are ya happier?”, he breathed out, his tone bitter as his eyes starred into yours. Your brows furrowed. He knew how selfish his actions were, but he couldn’t help it. His thumb slowly stroking over the inside of your wrist. He needed to know. Only then he could accept it, only then he could try to let you go. “Simon…”, you mumbled, as your lips pressed into a thin line, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Answer me, love.”, his words rolled so carelessly over his lips. You couldn’t. Only starring back into those dark eyes that wouldn’t let go of yours, and felt tears prick at the corner of your own. Everything you could answer him, everything you wanted to answer him would somehow be a lie. You were happy, but that wasn’t his question, and he could read it in your eyes. He let go of your wrist, as he stood up from his seat. He would never force you to say or do something, he couldn’t make you love him. He knew that. But the soldier inside of him knew, that this fight wasn’t over. The way your eyes spoke volumes to him. The way he could feel your pulse quickened as his palm was still rested on your skin. A desperate sigh left his throat. Your silence told him more than you thought. “I’d walk through ‘ell to find a way to keep ya in ma life. Even if it meant to burn the whole bloody world down…”

You only stood there, your mind running a marathon of thoughts at the sincere words he spoke out so easily. A phrase that let your heart make a jump and at the same time it shattered. You averted your gaze, trying to hold back the tears. “Goodbye, Si.”, you simply stated while turning on your heel. You didn’t want to cry in front of him again. You didn’t want to admit what power he still held over you. You didn’t want to show him how you lied to yourself when trying to avoid answering his questions. That way you left him behind and went back to work. And once more he felt the sheer guilt laying on his shoulders. He didn’t see the hot tears rolling down, but he knew you too well. The empty silence greeted him like an old friend, and he went back to his place. Cursing himself for the whole interaction. Why couldn’t he just let you go? Why couldn’t he simply let you become happy? It should be enough for him, seeing you happy living the life your deserved and he would go after his drilled one, just like before.

But nothing was like before. You simply changed everything. He was a broken man when you met him on that cold night in January. Effortlessly trapping him in a lovely chat, a conversation that saved him, and still he tried to keep his distance. And you had nothing better to do than picking up all the pieces and built him back together. So much effort, so much energy and so much love you spent for him. Earning his trust and giving him a place for his soul to heal and rest. Creating him a place to call home. How couldn’t he hold on to what you had provided him with? Still, he was back in his apartment alone with his demons, and they teared him apart worse than ever. So he decided to send a message to his captain.

Simon R. [15:23]

Let me come back. I’m sure there’s something I can help with.

Captain Price [16:01]

No chance, Lieutenant. Use the time reasonably.

Captain Price [16:03]

That’s an order!

He literally threw the phone across the room. How should he use this time useful? Price should’ve known better. Simon thought back to the day when he told his captain about you for the first time, and he remembered the proud beam on his face. You were the first civilian Simon even mentioned around his team, you were the first one to meet them. So, Price knew that this time was nothing more than waiting in patience to return. But somehow his captain hoped for something different, he couldn’t have known that you were engaged and this time on leave was breaking him more than anything.

Simon R. [16:06]

Roger, sir.

There was nothing he could do, besides going after his usual habits. Morning runs, hitting the gym, cooking some quick meals, helping whatsoever neighbor needed something done in their home. Everything that would keep him busy was greatly appreciated.

The time passed by, and every night he found himself on the balcony. Thinking back to nights he spent here with you. You cuddled up in front of him, while he refused to smoke while you’d cuddle and you’d always just say, that you wouldn’t leave, so he rather just smoked if he wanted to or stop it in general. You never complained about his smoking, but you would keep teasing him about it and he would just pull you closer to him. He didn’t need those cigarettes when he could inhale your scent anyways.

Where did the downward spiral begin? When did he start to distant himself without even noticing it? Was it after the Las Almas incident? Was it after his teammate nearly died because of him? Was it when he realized that one day, he might not be able to return to you? He couldn’t tell and he tried to make it out eagerly. Searching and scanning in all your interactions for the mistakes he committed. Nightmares haunted him night after night and every day he got up and went after his choirs again. Waiting for a message from Price to draft him in sooner than expected. To finally get some redemption before the two-week mark was overstepped. He couldn’t bear that day, knowing what happened on that Saturday. Knowing that on this Saturday you’d be officially off limits, and he wouldn’t dare to ruin it anymore. This Saturday… this Saturday. Fuck, it was today.

Anyways he dared to look up your social media, seeing if he could catch a glimpse of the pure perfection you’d be in your pretty white dress. But there was nothing found. What wasn’t so unusual, you never were the person to openly show your life online so easily. Especially not after the two of you started dating. You became more reserved with information about yourself because Simon would always be scared that someone could use you against him. That way there was never a picture of both of you found on your social media pages. Just a little S with a heart in your bio. A bio that was nearly empty now. But today, you’d post something, he was sure. That day was something so freaking special, you needed to show the world how gorgeous you’d look. And with that you would show him what he had lost. But somehow you spared him with that. It was already noon, and nothing was found on your page. That’s how he went after his day, completely lost and in complete autopilot. Not even thinking about anything he did. Just existing, his body carrying him through the day and letting the time pass.

It was about nine when he got on the balcony. Still in his dark green pajama pants, and a plain white shirt, an easy black zip up jacket. No socks, no mask, only a fag between his lips. Exhaling a deep cloud of smoke into the night. Just then he could hear a buzzing from the living room. He sighed, another cloud of smoke leaving his lungs. Probably only a dumb meme from Johnny, an attempt to cheer him up, but maybe it was the long-awaited message from his Captain. So, he decided to head in, to pick up his phone. The fag still clutched between his lips. He tapped the screen of his phone and as soon as the screen light up he found himself paralyzed. The fag slipping out from his lips, which were parted in shock. The cigarette burning his hand dragged him back into the reality. He quickly caught the fag before burning the whole place down, and then opened the message. The message that came from you. His mouth went completely dry as stared down on the words.

He read over those lines over and over, he couldn’t get a grip what you wanted to tell him. What made you think of that occasion now?

Love [21:13]

Do you remember when Johnny bragged about that one French wine after Mel dumped him, and we spent your last day on leave driving from Manchester to Edinburgh picking him up, over to Dover just to catch a ferry to buy that stupid wine and the whole way back? Just that you got deployed to Toulouse afterwards and he could drink so much of that damn wine…

Simon R. [21:21]

Could never forget about it. It was bloody stupid.

A desperate chuckle left his throat. It was one of his favorites as well. The way you’d sing stupid songs with Johnny to sheer him up, trade dumb childhood stories, and the way your hand was always entangled with his. It made the world seem so much more peaceful.

Love [21:23]

One of my favorite memories, tbh

Simon R. [21:25]

What made you think of that? Especially today…

He sighed. He couldn’t suppress the turns his stomach took. Still, he couldn’t blame you, such a day could get someone emotional and nostalgic. It was somehow relatable. He already regretted his question.

Simon R. [21:26]

You must be tired as fuck after such a long day.

Love [21:32]

Well… I did imagine the day to be different…

Time suddenly froze. The little three dots signaling your typing made him anxious. He starred down at the screen, the fag long forgetting, the ash on the anyhow ugly carpet. His foot bounced repeatedly on the floor, while he not dared to avert his eyes. The time until your answer plopped up on his screen felt unbearable. His chest heavy like he had to carry a whole tank. He felt weak, small, just because of the time you needed to answer. 

Simon R. [21:33]

What do you mean?

Love [21:47]

Couldn’t do it…

His chest heaving as he starred at your answer. His trembling fingers typed and answer. Never letting go of the phone as he already pulled on some socks, before searching for his boots.

Love [21:48]

It wasn’t fair…not to me, but esp not to him…

Simon R. [21:49]

Where are you?

Love [21:50]

Remember where we met…the park by the cemetery.

Love [21:58]

Si?

And he was. He never was faster seated on his motorbike than now. He drove like a madman. Usually, he would let his thoughts process everything. Outlining a plan before jumping into something, but not this time. Not when he got a second chance right in reach. His mind was blank. The only thought that filled his brain cells were you. And soon he found himself in the park. The park where he met you for the very first time some years ago. The day that changed his life, and it once more gave him the chance to turn it around. His breath got caught right in his throat as he took your figure in.

Simon R. [22:00]

Don’t fucking move. Already on my way.

You were seated at the very first steps of a war memorial. The place where he met you completely random when he paid his tribute to fallen soldiers. An old habit he committed to anytime he returned save. It was snowing like hell, everything was white, just like the dress you wore right now. His feet carried him over to you, as you still looked down on the screen. His eyes were pinned on you, trying to burn this image into his brain and never letting go of it. That’s when you looked up and a tired smile tugged at your lips. He was so underdressed compared to you. Still in those pajama pants, because there was no time to change properly, when you were the most perfect dress, he could’ve imagined you in.

 “You literal broke a few laws while rushing here. Speeding, taking dead ends and stuff. You could’ve taken some more time. You know.”, you said while standing up. A teasing tone laying in your voice. You looked breathtaking, better than his wildest dreams would even allow him to imagine. A smile planted on his lips as he stood right in front of you. “Not a patient person.”, he breathed out while taking his jacket off to wrap it over you. It was still freezing cold, and he saw the goosebumps amongst your skin. “You’re reckless, Simon Riley.”, he came closer, just when you put his hands on his chest. The familiar body warmth creeping up your cold palms. His hands lingering on your waist, as he starred in your eyes and pulled you closer, just the slightest. “And yer stunnin’, darlin’.” A slight blush crept over your face, maybe due the coldness lingering in your muscles, but maybe it was because of him.

You were standing here like the whole opposites you were. He was the stern and strong soldier, casual and reckless. Solid as rock during the heaviest tidal wave. He was your protector. You were his princess with the purest soul and heart. The lighthouse that guided him home anytime he needed. Anytime he needed to let go of Ghost.

In that moment it felt like the world stopped spinning. Nothing else mattered. “Si…” – “I know ’s too much to ask for forgiveness ‘n I know ‘m not in ‘e position to ask for anythin’ at all…and fuckin’ ‘ell. ‘m not good at that kinda stuff…. but…”, before he could keep going you interrupted him. Forcefully pulling him closer to you by his shirt, until the gap between you was fully closed and you felt the familiar sensation of his lips against yours. Your eyes closed, as his calloused palm reached for your face and cupped your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

Just when you tried to pull away, he made sure that you wouldn’t go anywhere. His hand firmly steadying you in your position as he leaned his forehead against yours. Your whiny voice reaching his ears. “Just shut up already and take me home, alright I’m freezing my ass off.” A stupid grin planted on his face, which wouldn’t fade any time soon. “Anythin’ ya want.”, he said while placing his hands around your body before easily lifting you up what earned him a sudden shriek as you clung around his neck. Carrying you bridal style over to his bike. Always having a spare helmet for you in. That’s totally not how you imagined the day you’d first wear a wedding dress, clinging to the beefy back from Simon, one hand holding on to the gathered fabric hoping it wouldn’t cause any accident, the other tightly slung around him while he carefully made his way back. But you couldn’t ask for something more.

It took you some time to completely warm up again, you nearly spent the whole day in that damn park considering if you could just write him or not, and you definitive should’ve done it earlier. The cold clung to your muscles. After taking a hot shower and ditching the dress for an oversized hoodie from his closet and some briefs, you were now curled up in a blanket on the couch. Laying against his firm chest, brawn arms wrapped around you, scared that this could be a dream. Scared that you could vanish any second if he’d let you go. He never stopped to prepper the crown your head with kisses while you twirled his fingers with your own. A genuine silence hanging around that place, that finally felt like home again. Something he’d never let go of again. “To answer your question…”, you broke the silence while tilting your head towards him. Looking in his deep dark eyes. “I am happier now.”, the sweet smile returning to your lips before he placed his onto them. “ ’s everythin’ I could’ve ever asked for, love.”, he breathed out as you parted for a brief moment before closing the gap once more. Right now, he felt like a starved man, but nobody could blame him.

You were the only thing he ever wanted for his own sake. And nobody could blame him, that he already got you a ring himself, about two years ago to be precise, he just never found the right time to drop the big question. But after tonight, he was eager to do so at some point. Just giving the two of you some more time, to get back settled in. But you’d got a lot of time ahead, for anything to work out. Simon made a mental note, that he would never let another man try to accomplish what was his personal lifelong mission; to make you happy.

It was quite late when Simon woke up the next day. You still spread across his chest, clinging onto him, when he remembered how both of you fell asleep on the couch last night. He listened to you little snores as he started to believe, that sometimes the world could be alright. You made it alright, and a smile played along his lips. If enduring all the pain brought him back into your embrace, it would always been worth it. That’s when his phone buzzed, he reached out to grab it, careful to not wake you up.

He hesitated for a short moment, before he pressed the little camera icon on his phone.

Captain Price [12:19]

Maybe I do have a task for you.

Simon R. [12:23]

 image attached

Captain Price [12:25]

Forget about it. See you in two weeks, Loverboy.

Captain Price [12:27]

Give her finally that bloody ring…

Bonus:

John couldn’t suppress a chuckle when he starred down at his phone. The sweetest image plopping up when he shook his head in amusement. And with his reaction he immediately had a specific Scot emerge behind him, starring at the phone over his Captain’s shoulder. A bright grin growing on his face. “Was ‘bout damn time…”, he instantly pulled his own phone out.

Soap [12:31]

istg… Lt if yer choose Garrick as yer best man …

Soap [12:33]

I AM FOR REAL

Soap [12:34]

ach ‘nd tell lass I said hi!!

Soap [12:35]

I’m happy for yer <3

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

I need Simon Riley who realizes just how much he loves you when he has a night terror.

He shoots out of bed with a shout, quickly looking to your side just to see it empty. His heart quickens even faster, images of your dead body, blood pouring out of your mouth and ears, eyes frantic before they still and glaze over. Remembering the scream he lets out as he shakes you, begging you.

"Please, please don't fuckin leave, love. God, not you. Please, you promised!"

He's having a panic attack and before he even processes it, he's running to the bathroom. Throwing him head into the toilet bowl, puking everything up as if his entire body is rejecting the very possibility of you no longer being there. He can't stop the tears ripping out of him and his fast, suffocating breaths stinging his throat as if the vomit isn't even there.

He doesn't even register your hand on his back, your panicked calling out to him.

"Baby? Baby what's wrong? Please talk to me" You beg, brushing his hair back, trying to hold onto him.

His wide, tear filled eyes meet yours and he throws himself into your arms, holding onto you like a lifeline. His crying doesn't stop, the intense emotions still overwhelming his senses.

"God please never leave me. I swear to god I'll be the best for you. I'll keep you safe, nothin's gonna happen to you" He swear as if he'd be your own guardian angel.

"Baby what happened? Did you have a nightmare?" You pet his hair, beginning to realize what's happening.

"I can't lose you, I can't. Not you. Please, I can't." He cries into your shirt, trying to calm down but he feels genuine fear that he doesn't feel outside the battlefield. You hold him as his breathing slows down, exhaustion overtaking him. You settle against the wall, fingers combing through his hair as you both fall asleep. Safe to say he doesn't have anymore nightmares that night.

(Friendly reminder that traumatized men aren't always fully numb and military men can have feelings !!)

[prismit]

to any nonbinary people reading this, never forget:

you can collect SOUL by striking enemies. once enough SOUL is collected, you can hold B to focus SOUL and regain health.

[yawnderu]

Simon lets out a deep chuckle as he sees your daughter pick flowers from the light, clean grass, her tiny hands barely even managing to gather enough strength to get the stems out of the ground.

“C'mon, that's enough.” His voice is patient, calloused hands picking his daughter up as he brings her up to his chest, a small smile when he sees her holding onto the flowers for dear life, giggles leaving her lips as he starts bouncing her while they walk.

It became a routine, in a way, for Simon to bring his daughter whenever he visits his family. She's too young to understand, so pure, so untainted from the dangers of the world, always kept safe by Simon and you, yet he can't fight off the urge to make his family see her.

He walks for a few minutes, enjoying the chilly air while his daughter cuddles up to him, one of her tiny hands gripping his jacket, while the other one is still holding onto the flowers. He stops in front of a set of four graves, the familiar pit of dread setting deep within him starts to come out, shaky hands managing to gently put the little girl down on the cold ceramic.

Mrs. Riley.

If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.

Simon was hiding his hurt quite well, managing to sit down next to his little girl, one hand on her back as she started crawling around, finally setting the flowers down.

“Mum?” His voice is quiet, almost cracking, as if he was the scared little boy his mother defended with her life. His daughter looks up at him with curious brown eyes, sitting down and entertaining herself with her own onesie.

“I remember telling you I'd never settle down because I could never get as lucky as Tommy and Beth...” He dragged out, gaze going down to the ring on his finger, the physical representation of your union.

“You've met my wife before, and now I want you to see my kid too.” He's barely managing to speak, words coming out rough and choked up as his hand caresses his daughter's thin hair, making him pause just to examine her features. She's a tiny carbon copy of him, a lovely nose and a set of brown eyes that will never see the horrors he lived.

“She's a proper daddy's girl, but you would've loved each other.” He's sure of it. His mum was always so lovely, so nurturing. A true angel on earth with way too much forgiveness and patience for her own good.

He picks his daughter up, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. Simon thought he cried all his tears when he was a little boy, yet his nose is starting to sting, vision getting blurry for a few seconds until a choked sob manages to escape his lips. He's quick to wipe any tears away, simply trying to focus on the peace and quiet the cemetery offers, his hand running up and down his daughter's back, patting it softly just to hear that little giggle that seems to always repair his broken soul.

“All of you would've loved her, shy little thing she is.” He sniffles again before a quiet laugh leaves his lips, smiling despite the way his eyes are still filled with tears threatening to spill at any moment.

“I'm quittin' the SAS soon, don't want her to grow up without a father. The wife's happy about it, too.” Simon lets out a small sigh, looking down at the graves of his family, all buried next to each other. He shakes his head softly, his free hand quickly wiping off his tears before he goes back to holding his daughter, rocking her with care.

“I'll come back with her next time, jus' wanted to talk to you today. Let you meet this lovely girl.” Big brown eyes meet his gaze, instantly cheering him up despite everything. He pinches his cheek softly only for the little girl to smack his hand away with a giggle, only making his smile grow wider at how hot-heated she is. Just like her mother.

[zillychu]

hmmm "stuck in the ghost zone" no one knows au thoughts :)

[toxooz]

i love a man who is the living embodiment of mnt Everest

[rusticfurnace]

devotion

poem from:

[mockerycrow]

Frozen Fingertips [1/2] (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - crow’s mega masterlist - part two

Summary: You and Simon are in an extremely cold and snow covered area of Russia and manage to get separated from everyone else when a blizzard comes out of nowhere. Ghost helps keep you alive.

[WARNINGS: Light descriptions of developing hypothermia and frostbite, angst, hurt/comfort, ghost is actually worried.]

THE EXTREMELY COLD air bit at the little skin that’s exposed on your face and invades your lungs, nearly feeling like it’s sending frost to bite at the most inner corners of your esophagus. Dressed in snow boots, a snow suit as well as a snow jacket with a bullet proof vest, a thick scarf, two layers of gloves—a pair of thin gloves and then your snow gloves—as well as a beanie with your hood up. You tried to tie your scarf in such a way where it covers the lower portion of your face, but movement has made the fabric crumble down. The conditions of the snowy forest you’re trudging through are harsh; the snow is several feet deep, nearly up to your mid-thigh, causing you to have to quite literally pull your leg through dense snow, and of course you forgot your sunglasses for this trip. The bright sun is shining onto the snow surrounding you, successfully blinding you, causing you to squint until you give yourself a headache.

You have no idea what temperature it is, but all you know is that the fact that you’re moving through the snow is the only thing getting you through this. Your nose burns from the cold and so do your cheekbones, and any other skin that is exposed. You hold your rifle tighter to your chest in an attempt to maintain warmth, and despite all of your protective clothing, you don’t feel warm at all. You’re traveling with Ghost, while Soap, Price, and Gaz are infiltrating a nearby safehouse, owned by Makarov. You and Ghost are making your way to the exfil point after providing overwatch—the weather was beginning to pick up, blocking your line of sight. You shudder as some snow lands on the tip of your nose and melt, but nearly immediately freeze due to the temperature.

You keep dragging your feet through the snow, one foot after the other, trying to think warm thoughts to keep you going. Your radio crackles to life and Ghost’s muffled voice comes through; he’s only in front of you, but the snow can act as a sound muffler. “Doin’ alright?” His voice is like a wave of warmth washing over you, and you close your eyes for a moment as you walk. You open them and mumble, “Freezing my ass off, sir.” Ghost lets out a huff that almost sounds like a chuckle. “Keep moving, sergeant. You’ll keep your strength and warmth up.” You don’t bother to respond as you continue to trudge on. The wind begins to pick up as well as the falling snow slowly turns into a mini blizzard. “This is Price to Ghost and [Name], how copy?”

You don’t bother to respond as you’re focused on keeping yourself upright—when did you begin to feel so tired? “Loud and clear, Price. The weather’s pickin’ up.”

When did you begin to feel so.. warm? ..What?

You blink and suddenly you find yourself collapsed into the snow. You don’t question it, because you’re quite comfortable. The coldness of the snow feels good against your suddenly warm skin. You’re violently shivering, but you don’t mind. You’re warm. A pair of hands grab your coat, flipping you over so you’re no longer face down into the snow. You whine and weakly try to push whoever is touching you because their gloved hands are on your face, brushing snow off of your skin. “Stop,” You slur, your voice wobbling. Your hearing tappers out for a moment, and apparently so does your vision because the next thing you know—you find yourself in a cabin.

The first thing you feel is warmth—and then extreme coldness, and then numbness, and it’s a repeating cycle, causing you constantly shiver where you’re laying. Your limbs feel so heavy and you just want to stay laying down, but you’re hit with the thought of Ghost. Did he bring you here? Or did something happen, causing someone to take you? Your thoughts are in disarray, that much is clear. You can’t even form a coherent thought. You blink slowly as to focus your gaze, and you see a tall and bulky figure bent down by a fireplace, which you’re laying near. Huh. You’re somehow stuffed inside your sleeping bag. The figure’s back is turned to you, so whatever they’re doing, you’re unable to see. “C’mon,” The rough voice hisses. Oh, it’s Ghost.. Duh. You let out a choked noise as a weird pain of blistering pain radiates through your skull, and you’re vaguely aware of the feeling of your blood quickly rushing back into your fingertips, the humming sensation in your fingers nearing painful. They were lightly tingling before.

You blink again; time has passed. There’s a fire going now, a steady one, but it’s clearly not enough. Not with the way Ghost’s intense eyes are staring into yours, him saying something about you staying awake, something about how he knows you want to sleep—which he’s right about—but you can’t, and that you shouldn’t. You nearly wanna reach over and smack him about that, and you would have if you could move without the sluggish and heavy weighted feelings in your limbs. Who is he, to tell you, what you can and cannot do?? “I’m tired, Ghost.. Lemme sleep.” You croak out—your voice is trembling and you don’t understand why, but your body doesn’t give you enough energy to properly question it and you lay your head back down, trying to turn it away.

“Need you to keep those eyes open, [Name],” Ghost’s voice is suddenly.. very, very, very close to your ears. Your eyes flutter back open—you don’t even remember closing them—and you’re face to face to his mask. His brown eyes burrow into yours, nearing unreadable, but one thought pops up when your head allows it; he’s worried. Ghost is worried. “M’here,” You mutter, feeling yourself shake in your sleeping bag. “I’m here.” You watch as Ghost gets up from his position, which was looming over you, to add more fuel to the fireplace. The fire cracks and sparks alive once again, and you never noticed it died down. Must’ve been a while, of you being in and out. Your head is finally allowing you think more clearly. “How..” You lick your dry and cold lips before continuing. “How long has it been?”

Ghost looks over at you, pausing for a moment before poking at the burning wood with a fireplace poker. “You don’t know?” He questions, his voice tense. Bad sign. You not remembering how much time has passed is a very bad sign. You shake your head, tugging your sleeping bag closer to your body in a sluggish manner. Ghost’s quiet as he moves back over to you, grabbing his own sleeping bag which is tightly rolled up and attached to his backpack. Ghost begins to unravel the fabric and unzip it, in an attempt to make a blanket. “Well, a big blizzard started up as we were headin’ to the RV. Found you face down in the snow a bit behind me, and knew you..” He trails off as pulls the zippers down, hesitating in his movements. “..knew you needed to rest, needed help.”

You press your lips together because it’s so clear Ghost is avoiding what he wanted to say; what you both know what he meant. A harsh shiver rolls out through your body, harsh enough to make your vision spin, causing Ghost to huff. He drapes his unzipped sleeping bag over your body, tucking the extra fabric under your body. You groan quietly and you shut your eyes for a moment. Ghost is shifting stuff around and you his gloves fingers push your hat up ever so slightly and then you feel.. skin pressing against your forehead?? Your eyes open sleepily to the sight of Ghost’s mask pushed to above his nose, exposing his scarred lips and cheeks. You open your mouth to say something but a quiet whimper leaves you as your vision swims again—not giving you a moment to think about his kiss against your forehead. “Cold.” He mutters as he grabs the edge of his mask and pulls it back over the rest of his face, down to his neck. You watch as Ghost takes off his scarf and wraps it around your neck instead, and then he lays down next to you and wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. You try to question why he’s doing this, but Ghost is already three steps ahead of you. “You’re not of any help if you’re dead, love.” His voice is steady, but it’s on edge—like he’s scared.

You shut your eyes and you lean into his everlasting warmth, and you decide to not point out how his gloved fingers are stroking the exposed skin of your face in a soothing manner.

[martyfive]

i’m sorry

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 11: silence

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: hello, yes i like to hurt my feelings, and yes I had lot of fun writing this one, reblogs are really appreciated and pls let me know what you think, this chapter is kinda important to me

CW/TW: mentions of death, loss, trauma, violence, assault, angst, hurt, use of y/n and petnames (difference in the petnames is intended)

wordcount: 3.8k

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"I dinnea ever again will hit the gym with yer two.", Johnny whined while pearls of sweat ran down his forehead. "Nobody asked ya to be here.", Ghost said, maybe a bit sarcastic, but still a serious tone hidden in between. You only chuckled while catching your breath. You had a chat with one of the other Sergeants a day back and he recommended a good work out, but you needed at least three persons for it to be efficient. To give yourself a challenge, you didn't hesitate to ask Simon and then Johnny. "Well, bonnie here did.", he smiled – a knowing smile - aimed at Ghost. They started a full-on argument about it but you didn't listen. Only caught fragments of burgers, tanks, and tea. You didn't pay much attention; your glance was pinned onto the screen of your phone. Price had called you, at least three times and a message was left, that you should see him in his office as soon as possible. "Gotta go. Cap wants to see me.", you stuffed the phone back into the pocket before waving your goodbye. "Dinnea forget about dinner tonight!", Johnny yelled after you, what earned him a simple thumbs up by you before running around the corner.

"Dinner?", Simon didn't want to ask, he really didn’t but sometimes his mouth was faster than his mind. Something that happened rarely, but even more when it comes to you. He had sworn to stop that. Invading your privacy like he did with the dog tag of your dead friend. If there would be something he needed to know, you would tell him. You trusted him. He trusted you. Still, he hated the feeling in his guts as Johnny asked you about dinner. Just like he hated the feeling boiling up in him when Johnny sat next to you instead of himself. "Yer ken, just some mates havin' dinner together.", Johnny wore one of the most mischievous grins he could. He didn't look at him, but he felt how Simon stared daggers at him. What Simon didn’t get to hear, that the dinner was supposed to be the whole team, but Johnny kept that part to himself. The reaction from his Lieutenant made it worthy, until he heard the harsh tone from him again. "Another round, Sergeant." - "Oh, c'mon."

Just as you wanted to knock at the door, of Price's office, it already swung open, and Kyle investigated your face. "Brought ya someone.", he stated while moving to the side and gifted you a quick but honest smile before you entered the office. "You wanted to see me, sir?", your voice serious but soft. You walked over to the desk where Price was seated. "I might need your help to find a solution for all that mess.", he said while pointing to the chair and you sat down, looking at your captain with anticipation. Price explained the whole situation and that there was one person that could gather intel to lead the whole operation forward. The problem was, this person was announced MIA like two months ago, but there was a little hint to find him. Laswell worked the last weeks to find his trace. He should’ve been held hostage for the whole time in an old chem factory taken by Russian terrorists. Biggest problem about it; another military organization is already trying to get rid of the occupier. That way the 141 couldn't just head out. Especially when the deployed team and yours were known to be not getting along quite well. You couldn't just walk in and get your man out of there and act like nothing happened. Price found out who led the operation on location, and that was your entry.

You knew him, way too well. "You’re asking me to reach out to request a favour?" - "Unfortunately, I think it's our best shot at the moment." You stayed silent, eyes trailing to your hands folded in your lap. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask for. But we don't want them to help us, just to lay down their work for a day that we can go in and out. Maybe it can even help them..." You stayed silent. "It isn't an order, you know." Your silence made Price feel uneasy. But you were so entangled with your own thoughts that you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

It's been over a year now, a year of distance between the two of you and now you should approach him like nothing happened. That was almost impossible. You couldn't just call him. You couldn’t reach out to him, like you did nothing wrong to him. You simply couldn't, "Gonna take care of it.", and you did. Your work brain took over.

It took you some time to achieve what was requested and to your fortune you had achieved it without calling him directly. He was on the front line anyways. That way you found yourself surrounded by Soap, Gaz and Ghost on the way to the border from Uzbekistan. Price wasn't there, he had to take care of another problem, Laswell and he needed to solve before your return. Wearing the black mask, eyes closed you listened to your surroundings. Gaz' and Soap's talk, the steady and deep breathing from Ghost who sat next to you again. It gave you a familiar grounded comfort before leaving the vehicle to go after your target.

You needed to operate with a huge level of fineness. Pulling as less as possible attention while freeing your man. That's why you decided to split up. Ghost and you should march first, you were the most quiet and the best of the team to act in the shadows. Gaz and Soap built the rearguard to take cover of you from higher levels. Everything seemed to go right to plan. Within an hour you found your man and was able to free him. Ghost steadied him and you watched his six while making your way back to the exit.

That was the turning point, from now on the mission just went south. Gaz couldn't keep you covered because he needed to cover his partner. Both got literally overrun by enemies. Just when you lost Gaz over the comms, you got distracted as Ghost lost grip of the hostage. That's how you caught a bullet in your shoulder. Nothing to worry too much about it, but the pain was ringing through your body. You kept pushing it down. Kyle and Johnny were long gone, and you switched channels at your comms really quick before you pushed further forward. Just then you caught a familiar face. It was a face printed on a photo Price showed you weeks ago when you had to eliminate two men. This image in front of you instantly made you stop in your tracks. "Impossible.", you breathed out nearly inaudible when Ghost stopped to look after you. His voice was harsh. "Sergeant?" But before you could answer him, a huge trembling of those old and rusty metal floors caught your attention more. "Keep moving.", Ghost now yelled at you, and you did. Running to the point where you entered the factory. The metallic bridge you had to run over did collapsed into itself before you reached the other side and dragged you down. Ghost tried to catch a fracture of your tactic vest, but you were already gone. Somewhere levels below your actual exit point.

You could muffle the impact of the harsh ground a bit, still you groaned in pain. "Sergeant, you broken?", you heard Ghost's voice over the comms. It sounded as serious and stern as always. The hole in your shoulder made it so much more difficult to breathe right now. You needed to steady yourself. "Skadi, status?!", his voice got more demanding or even desperate. You couldn't tell. He was already on his way down, as you didn't answer him. You took a few deep breaths before pushing the button on your communication device. "Steady. Need another way out. I guess."

He instantly stopped his movement. Ghost didn't realize he held his breath until you spoke, that's why he let out a deep exhale of relief. "Let's see if I can help.", he answered and that earned him a quite chuckle form you. "Take our man outside, Lieutenant, rendezvous at evac. I'll be there." - "Don't do something stupid, Sergeant." You didn't answer him, but you felt a harsh pain piercing through your chest. Not caused through the fall, no, caused of his choosing of words. Words you heard all so often. You pushed yourself up, grip tight around your rifle while searching for another way out of that factory.

Ghost brought the hostage to the evac point before reaching out to you again. You weren't here. "Sergeant, location?" Soap was already seated in the jeep, Gaz just arriving. His comms were destroyed, Soap had dust and sticky liquids all over his gear. But after all they still looked alright. Soap wanted to ask about you, but suddenly another quake brought their attention back to the factory. "Status, now!!", Simon yelled in the comms. The men could witness an explosion going off in the upper levels of the factory. Johnny reached out to his comms after you didn't answer. "C'mon bonnie. Where are yer?" Still no answer. Ghost could feel his stomach turn. He could feel how the grip around the little device at his vest tightened. Soap and Gaz already talked nine tin to a dozen, but none of their words met his ears. "Stay here!", he hissed out a order before running towards the factory. Soap and Gaz didn't even try to protest, they knew Ghost had already chosen. He couldn't afford to bring them right into the danger zone. It was enough to endure that you were out there. He couldn't afford to lose you. He couldn't live with the knowledge that he could have changed something. And he could, so he would. He wasn’t the helpless little boy from Manchester anymore. He could protect what he held dear to him now.

His feet dragged him faster than ever to the place your ways parted. His eyes scanning for a hint of your figure. His comms switched to the private channel he had with you. "Skadi?!" His voice was so broken, he could feel how a rope laced around his throat. "Skadi, please." He ran through the building, finding bodies laying everywhere around, always scared to look if it might be yours. But they were all too tall for your figure. A figure that shouldn't have to endure all that like he had to. He heard a distant exchange of fire. Then a crack in his comms and immediately stopped in his track. "Skadi??", his breath was uneven, his chest lifting heavy. "Backup's here.", an unfamiliar raspy voice echoed through his head. Backup? They never called for backup, but that would explain the gunshots he heard from afar. He didn't give it another thought before continuing his search for you. He only had one goal, finding you, alive and bringing you back. Back home, not to this shitty apartment in Birmingham you told Simon about. No, he would make sure that you feel at home wherever you wanted and deep down he hoped it would be besides him.

"y/n, please tell me your location.", his voice was desperate. This silence killed him. He never hated silence, especially not when you were next to him. Your sheer presence providing him a feeling of safety. But this damn radio silence, not knowing what happened to you, or if you were injured. His mind already flashing him with images of a blood-stained body. An image that joined the row of images in his head. A deep groan left his throat, no, he wouldn't let this happen. You were not supposed to take a place with them. You're supposed to stay at his side. In that moment he wished that you were back at the patio. Watching as the sun lowers itself, painting the sky red and orange. In this comforting silence sharing those disgusting fags of yours. He hated them to be honest, but the small smile on your lips when he took one of them made it worthy. "Please, just anything."

That's when his eyes found something familiar. The little blue box he found some time ago on that same patio. At a time when he had never thought he would need you. But he did. He was on the right track. His eyes instinctively scanning for other hints when he finally heard your voice. Without hesitation and with a tight grip around the rifle he ran after the echo your scream was coming from. Hold on a little while longer, he thought to himself.

As soon as he rounded the corner he froze. A vicious frame burned itself inside his brain. A tall statue was holding you up in the air. A gloved hand around your throat, while the other pushed a knife into the side of your abdomen. Your hands clung sloppy on the arm of the man in front of you. The last attempt to keep the air flowing in your system. Your mask was crooked, making it even harder to breath. The tactic vest long gone from your body, ripped down leaving you only in your bodice, already soaked in the carmine liquid. Simon saw red. His mind was completely empty, only one thought was running through. You.

His temporarily paralyses lead to a huge mistake, something he would regret so often in his life. In those little seconds where he stood frozen, taking the scenery in front of him in, your opposite took notice of his appearance. Those seconds did decide about life or death of both of you. Before Ghost could draw his rifle and take him out, the man spun around, turning you with him. Your back pressed against his front. Leaving your throat, so you could finally breath a bit more. He held you close to his chest, using you as a shield as he drew his own gun and pressing the cold barrel against the side of your head. "Gun down, we don't want to destroy that pretty face, do we?!", he yelled over with a Russian accent, and it made Ghost's jaw clench. He was the reason you were in this situation. His emotions blinding him and now he wasn't able to make it up to you. But he had to. No matter what it takes, he would take care of you and bring you home. "Did I speak unclear?!", the man yelled again while pressing the cold metal even further into your skull. Your eyes were squeezed shut. You could barely make out the silhouette in front of you.

To your fortune he left the knife inside, that gave you a bit of a chance to not completely bleed out right here. Everything felt numb and sore at the same time. You could feel your eyes rolling back in your head. But you forced them back, using the last bit of adrenaline to look back onto Ghost and shaking your head. Only the slightest. Only to signaling him that it was okay. You knew they were safe. He should leave. Your eyes closed again. You knew you did all you could. Ghost slowly put the rifle down. Lifting his hands in defense. "Let her go and we'll leave.", he demanded but the man only laughed. Simon's hands were trembling. The anger inside of him as high as the anxiety. He couldn't afford to lose you. He didn't want to add your images to those of his family. He carefully took a step forward, what immediately earned him a shot in the air. A warning shot. He froze again. He only once felt so helpless before. But this situation was too new for him. He felt like drowning. He wanted to hold you, carrying you out of here back to your bed. You were so close to him and still, he couldn't reach you. What would Price say? What would Johnny say? What would Kyle say? It didn’t matter because he would rather die right here than seeing you all riddled up.

The next moment felt unreal to everyone in this room. Especially for the Russian. Before Simon even realized what happened, he saw both of you going down to the ground. He didn't need another signal, started sprinting towards you. Completely ignoring his own safety. You only felt another painful impact, before a darkness washed over your sight. Another crackle in his comms and there was this unfamiliar voice again. "The motherfucker is down!", but Simon didn't care about that guy. He only cared about you. He was already on his way. Your figure laying on the floor. Within seconds he was by your side, pulling you in his lap. Immediately ripping of the mask off your face to give you the chance to breathe properly before he checked your pulse. "Lieu....t..." your voice was raspy, and low, barely audible. "'m here. 'm here. Just stay with me, that's an order. Ya hear me.", he pressed you close to his chest, your head steadied in the crook of his neck. "Yer...yer not gettin’ ...rid of me that easily.", you breathed out exhausted, your accent thicker than usual. Every breath sent a piercing pain through your chest. Simon chuckled in relief, then there was another crack in the comms. A low laugh could be heard. You could hear it as well, as your head was close to Ghost's earpiece. You opened your heavy eyelids. "Always having your back, mein Engel." [my angel], the voice came again through the comms, sweeter and softer than before while your head fell back, even further into your Lieutenant and a smile appeared on your lips. "Get her out of here big boy.", a quick switch to the deeper demanding voice, "I'll cover you." Ghost nearly ignored him, he only had ears for your little pants, especially as you closed your eyes again. He shuffled you around and cupped your face. Making sure not to cause any more pain than anyhow.

"Eyes open, Sergeant. Look at me, Skadi.", he plead. "C'mon.", you could hear him, but it sounded so distant. "We need ya out of here. But ya need to open those pretty eyes f' me first.", you were sure you were already gone. His voice sounded so soft and the number of words. He never talked so much before. God, you wished he did. "y/n please, look at me." You slowly forced your eyes open, and they found his. Those dark eyes looking down at you, filled with worry but at the same time with determination and a hint of adoration. The way he looked at you changed since your first days with him, and a weak smile formed again on your lips, your face relaxed. If that would be the way you'd die, you'd be fine with it. Looking in his eyes, dying in his arms, listening to his heartbeat. Is that what Randy thought in his last moments? It felt peaceful.

"That's it, luv. Keep them open f' me." He didn't care about the choosing of his words, he didn't care about his heart nearly leaving his chest, he only cared getting you out of here. He pulled out the box you lost earlier. "Here, hold on. Randy will be pissed if ya’d lose it.", he pushed the box into your hands, and you clung to it with the rest of strength that was left in your body. Your eyelids weighted tons, but your tried to keep them focused on the little box in your hand and Simon's voice helped to keep your head clear. This beautiful melody in your ears, a melody that symbolized safety. Ghost pushed the button on his comms again "MacTavish, move the fuckin jeep over here.", he ordered before lifting you up as careful as possible. "Just hold on a little while longer."

He carried you through the mess of factory. Ignoring everything around him. His focused laid onto you, onto your chest that's still moving and on your eyes. He started searching for the jeep as soon as the beams of sunlight brushed over his eyes. "Don't leave me, ya hear me."

Johnny pulled over and Kyle helped to move you into it. Simon kept you in his lap, against his chest. His huge hands found your cheeks, tilting your head into his direction. "Not falling asleep on me this time, alright.", he said calm. Kyle held onto the weak body of the hostage while he yelled at Johnny as the jeep went through the thick vegetation, already taking care of medevac. Simon ignored them. He whispered sweet nothings and praises into your direction. Trying to suppress the panic in his voice. It only got worse when you slowly closed your eyes again. "No, no, no. Ya have to stay awake. Keep listin' to me. I know ya able to.", his voice was so broken. There were so many more things he wanted to say to you, so many things he wanted to show you. He needed more time. "y/n, please. Stay with me.", he bended over, bringing his masked head to yours. "Don't leave me.", his forehead pressed against yours, while keeping your body steady against his own. Johnny and Kyle still yelling at each other, while Soap drove like a madman.

"Simon...", your voice was weak, just a whisper but he heard you and nearly melted when you approached him. " 'm here, love." He moved his head away from yours to look at you. Your eyes were still closed, but your lips were moving. "Johnny told me...ya good with jokes. Think I need something... something to laugh.", you breathed out while still clinging to the box in your hand. Your voice was filled with pain; every word that left your lips hurt and still you were able to soften the tone. Simon let out a nearly inaudible chuckle. He wanted to scold you, tell you to spare your strength. Tell you so much more than a sloppy joke, but he didn't. " Why did the coffee call the police?”, he paused for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours.  “It got mugged.", his voice was so calm and soft. You did sink further into him while a weak chuckle left your lips. "That's...", you weren't able to complete the sentence anymore as you fell into a darkness. The grip around the box loosening. "No, nooo!!!", Simon's voice trembled, there were cracks in it. The silence was an old friend of him, but this friend pushed a knife right through his heart.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub @illuminwtesz @killergoddess97 @kaelaiscool @spiritndrain

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

[velvetures]

Honorifics

A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.

When you joined the task force, things didn’t exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still weren’t in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didn’t excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasn’t difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasn’t your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didn’t have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.

Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldn’t have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what you’d experienced in your “standard” military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which… often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didn’t get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.

The Lieutenant was particularly mean… he certainly didn’t give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where he’d come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else he’d have been just as mythical in his legendary life and would’ve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.

The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost… there was no choice you’d sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations… You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than ‘sir’. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.

Ghost however… didn’t like it.

Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd ‘sir’ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldn’t really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, ‘Cap’… Soap, ‘Johnny’… and Garrick, ‘Gaz’ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasn’t the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.

He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldn’t be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didn’t have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck… he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than he’d signed up for initially. Hearing you call him ‘sir’ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.

The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.

He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldn’t be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didn’t mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything you’d been asking for so the both of you wouldn’t face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best… but you’d kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.

Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasn’t a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when he’d found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasn’t threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.

With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being “too fucking annoying to tolerate”, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.

It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. That’s what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how you’d been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadn’t been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.

The next two days were spent laying near motionless… not hungry or thirsty.

Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.

A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadn’t been made by you in over forty-eight hours. You’d not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything you’ve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasn’t hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, it’d been a long time since you’d spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldn’t tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasn’t necessary and the last time you’d stood up didn’t cross your memory clearly.

Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didn’t wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how he’d be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.

“Gonna say somethin’?” He sounded no less irritated than the last time you’d spoken.

It made your throat burn to even think you’d allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadn’t been a totally voluntary one. You’d not moved your jaw in days at this point.

“You’ve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.”

Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. You’d trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there weren’t enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic… yes. Satisfying to your own pride… undoubtedly. When you didn’t even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease him… please him even, with that little quip of ‘sir’ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.

“Goddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckin’ answer!” His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.

Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didn’t utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldn’t look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. You’d not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didn’t move soon. Ghost wasn’t as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers weren’t commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. You’d been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didn’t, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions they’d made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free will…? That wasn’t healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.

When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.

“Brass…” Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasn’t accurate. “It’s been five days.” His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.

You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility you’d lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasn’t leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.

“This’s Ghost. Get a bay ready now, I’m bringin’ someone in.” The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldn’t be established or wasn’t clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.

“Copy Ghost.” A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didn’t fucking matter or apply to him.

His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. You’d never touched Ghost once in all the time you’d known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldn’t be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenant’s chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.

He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.

The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but these are far different circumstances. You’re still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. It’s overstimulating, to say the least, and you’re worried they’re going to think you’ve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasn’t worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.

“Treat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,” The female voice states softly. “Being on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and she’s going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.” She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.

“You’ve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field… but you’re one tough lady.” She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. “We’re going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. You’ve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, you’ll be right as rain soon, sniper.”

Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost who’d not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. He’d been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason you’d shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. You’d been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldn’t stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldn’t wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.

You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.

But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didn’t know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’. Goddamnit Ghost knew he’d nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because he’d never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while he’d been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldn’t nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldn’t measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasn’t anything else he could do until you’d been considered healthy and strong again.

Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctor’s orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as you’d left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as you’d left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes you’d been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didn’t own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasn’t of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.

“Sir,” You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. “I expected you to be at drill.” You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.

“Should be,” He replied flatly. “But I’m not.” You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. He’s inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.

“Do you like the color green?” His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.

“Yes, sir.”

His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. You’re breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments you’d still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesn’t yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.

“Why do you call me that?” His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you he’d always held, and given you the instant to call him ‘sir’ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and you’d always been one wave away from drowning under him.

“You deserve the honor…” You answer, certain. Even if he’d broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure you’d applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.

“Brass,” He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. “I’m not what you think I am.” Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.

“What’s that, sir?” You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.

“Safe… Trustworthy… Honorable.” He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed he’d feel the most revered and… loved.

“You’re wrong,” You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. “You’re a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me you’re capable of inhuman things…” Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. “Yet you’re human. So much more than anyone sees. Because it’s not evil that keeps you going. It’s the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.” Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.

“You’re not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you ‘sir’, is because you’re a man unlike any other, Ghost.”

Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that you’d experienced. But Ghost… he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear can’t hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until it’s skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.

Yet he’s dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until he’s nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after he’d yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.

“Brass - I…” Ghost’s voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. “God, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t ignore you anymore… I’m losing my mind.”

You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenant’s form of apology came in the way he’d ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man who’d never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.

“You don’t have to…” You whisper, resting your forehead against his.

Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. “I’m so sorry…”

You smile sadly. “I’m sorry too.”

His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. “Say it again… please. I need to hear it. God, please.”

“It’s okay…” Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. “I’m right here, Ghost. We’re going to do this over again… Together, Ghost.”

Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. “Together… together, with you.”

[yawnderu]

cr: @ave661

Simon wasn't a stupid man. He always knew better, knew to look between the lines even when you tried your best to be deceiving. Even then, the pure rejection you showed to your newborn baby was something not even the best actress could hide. Refusing to hold her after she was born and fully shutting down on Simon, screaming at him whenever he tried to offer any sort of help and support, only getting worse if he ever tried to approach you while holding the baby.

Post-partum depression is no joke, Simon realized after doing his own research, only then realizing just how bad it can get after accidentally stumbling on article upon article of mothers getting to the point of harming their own child. You weren't like that— Simon liked to convince himself despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach, anxiety seeping out of every pore of his body when even months later you refused to hold or interact with the baby.

It all came crashing down after he came back from deployment, the nanny holding his daughter while soothing her with calm words, doing her best to console the crying infant despite the tears falling down her cheeks when she confessed to him that you're gone.

Gone without a trace, at first. Simon wasted no time using his connections to know where you were. Laswell was the most helpful, giving him all the details of the help center you were in, yet even then, Simon didn't reach out first in fear of messing up your progress, not wanting to add more stress to your situation when you were trying to get better.

Four years. For four years, Simon's life was divided in deployments and taking care of his daughter at home, never once thinking about moving on, always asking Laswell for updates— updates she was glad to give him using her own connections, wanting to give Simon some peace of mind even if it went against the rules.

“It's okay.” Simon reassured his daughter, his long sleeves wet with cola that she spilled from her little cup. His home was the complete opposite of the absolute hell he grew up in, not allowing himself to scream, hit, or take out his frustration on the little carbon copy of himself sitting on the couch.

“'M sorry, daddy.” Her sweet voice made the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, taking off his sweater and putting it away, wasting no time on grabbing a towel to clean up the now sticky mess of coke on the table.

“It's okay, love. Jus' don't tip it, 's gonna spill.” She gave him a small salute in understanding, a cheeky grin on her lips when she saw him holding in his laughter, knowing fully well she's copying him— as usual.

The doorbell ringing got Simon's full attention, giving his daughter one last look before he went to answer. His eyes widened slightly the moment he saw your shorter figure waiting for him, purposely making yourself smaller like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, a small folder held in your hands. You're both quiet for what seems like forever, the only sounds coming from your daughter in the living room, the TV displaying a kid's show Simon put on.

“I'm so so—” You don't even have the chance to finish your sentence before you're being pulled into a tight hug, Simon's burly arms wrapping around your body, every single second spent missing you, secretly hoping you'd come back one day crashes down on him the moment he feels your arms wrap around his waist, holding him as tight as possible, as if he'd disappear if you don't hold onto him for dear life.

“I got better.” You whisper into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly when he doesn't let go of you. Not yet— not when the love of his life is finally back after years. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before his face goes back to burying in the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar scent.

It takes minutes for Simon to finally let go, hesitation clear in his actions as he looked down at you, keeping one hand on your waist in silent fear of you seeping through his fingers. The folder in your hand gets his attention, giving you a questioning look before you offer it to him, managing to give him a small smile of reassurance despite all the anxiety and fear.

“My psychotherapist wrote it. It's... just a paper that shows the progress I've made from her perspective.” You stand awkwardly as he reads the document, taking in every single word written by the woman who has been helping your for four long years. You can hear your daughter giggling at the TV show, only making the anxiety in your stomach grow more by the second.

To your surprise, Simon steps out of the way to allow you into the home he created, his safe haven. Nothing changed from the last time you were here, other than toys scattered all over the place, likely from Simon being too busy bonding with his daughter to even clean.

You can see the little girl sitting on the couch as you walk closer, her brown eyes fully focused on the screen until she hears something from behind her. She's so much bigger now, looking like a tiny carbon copy of Simon, down to the little skull-patterned pajamas she was wearing.

She turns around after seeing you from the corner of her eye, her little face lighting up into a toothy grin as she jumps from the couch, sprinting towards you as fast as her little legs allow her to.

“Mommy!” You crouch down to her height out of pure instinct, almost being knocked off balance when she crashes into you, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. The fact that Simon never stopped talking about you to her and kept your pictures warms your heart, being as delicate as possible as you hug her back.

“Y'look so pretty.” She has Simon's accent, making you let out a small laugh before looking down at her, cupping her cheek just to examine her features better.

“Thank you, sweet girl.” You're glad for the way she cuddles up to you again, not bothering to hide the tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer love displayed by the same girl you left four years ago. Your gaze drifts up to Simon, whose eyes are glossier than usual despite the fact that he's not shedding a tear. He gives you a small nod in acknowledgement, not daring to look away from the heartwarming scene in front of him.

“Daddy talks a lot about you.” She whispers into your ear, covering her mouth as if she's telling you the biggest secret ever. You giggle at the little gossiper, your warm hand running up and down the length of her hair.

“He does?” You whisper back, giving Simon a cheeky look at the admission, one of his thin eyebrows raising when he sees your daughter nod her head vigorously, giggling as she looks at Simon.

“Well, I'm sure he talks a lot about you too.” The pure forgiveness that comes from both of them drowns the guilt, if only for a short while.

“You're such a pretty princess.” Your arms wrap around her again, rocking her softly from side to side, allowing yourself to take in their love. It doesn't take long for Simon's resolve to falter, dropping to his knees and wrapping his burly arms around his girls protectively, planting a little kiss on your forehead.

Despite everything, there's no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

Dad!Ghost Masterlist

[nerdpoe]

Kon, in an effort to blow off steam after another argument with Superman, goes to bumfuck nowhere. He meets a small-time hero named Phantom.

Phantom is happy to lend a listening ear, nodding along sympathetically and giving Kon fantastic ideas to fuck with Superman.

Then he stops Kon with an increasingly concerned expression.

"Wait-and all of his friends are saying he isn't normally like this?"

"Yeah, according to Dinah he may be like, projecting or something-"

"On a scale of 1-10, how different is he?"

Kon stops and frowns, thinking.

"I dunno, apparently he's like, super kind and empathetic? Normally? Now he's just an asshole though."

"And this just...happened. Apparently."

"Yeah, he came back after being dead, took one look at me, and decided that being his 'nice and normal self' was too much work."

Phantom looks sick.

"So don't take this the wrong way, but I think I need to actually fight Superman."

OR: Superman was cruel to Kon when he came back because he was possessed, and the ghost possessing him was clever enough to bypass pinging on any of the JLD radar. It was behaving like itself towards Kon because it knew that Kon had no one to report it to that would take it really seriously, so long as it pretended to be kind to everyone else. So it was treating Kon like stress-relief. But Danny realizes it. And the only way Danny knows how to perform a successful exorcism is to punch the ghost out of somebody. Literally. (also the fenton peeler but that thing freaks him out)

[inkbybambi]

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

one thing you love about simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. strong, steadfast, there when you need him. even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

not that you’ll tell him that.

you hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

except for simon.

which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. you don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. you've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

but losing simon? you don't think you'd ever get over that.

it's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold your tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

your call log is all simon.

some appointments here and there, but simon everywhere else.

fuck.

you hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

you don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

he answers before the third ring.

"i'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. you take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired.

“no, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. you’re only half-convinced.

"i'm sorry," you begin again. your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. you're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "i didn't know who else to call, and i lost my tram pass, and i don't have an umbrella, and — "

“dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. you ache.

"i can just walk home, i-i'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone.

“darling,” he says, a little stern. not angry, never angry. trying to focus you. “what’s wrong?”

“u-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "i waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "messaged him too, y'know. but he just. didn't show."

you think you hear simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick.

“where are you?”

there's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. you manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking.

“twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “sit there and be good and patient and i’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. you make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

you can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

he says your name gently. you take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. he's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. assessing you, worrying.

"i'm sorry," you croak out. you can't help it. it's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. he doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. his eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "you know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

you can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. he hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"this is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. you were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "you really think i'd let you stay home alone?"

his eyes are so fucking bright. it startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"i..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. his eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "i was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"as if i don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. you scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

you hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

his flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

well.

you might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. it's a you're a bit clumsy thing. simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

his bedroom is familiar as well. which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

you take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. you’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

as you pad back out to the living room, simon’s already on the couch. your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. but you’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

his balaclava is off. the last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv already ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“am i that predictable?” you mumble, a small ‘thank you’ as he hands you a bowl.

he doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

the silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

you blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. you can’t read his eyes. something hot twists in your gut.

“i-i don’t know, simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “maybe?”

he doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “depends how the date went, i suppose. doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. his gaze hasn’t changed. “why?”

his jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “you deserve better ‘n that.”

a confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “i know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

he seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. you feel sick.

dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. you bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. relationships aren’t easy. being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

you never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. you don’t deserve that kind of attention. after a while, they’ll get tired. you’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

it’s easier to be by yourself. the only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“love.” he tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. how hasn’t he tired of you yet?

a hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“what’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

you swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “no one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

frustration burns the back of your throat. isn’t it obvious? you can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. how can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? how could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“you wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. you crumble back into the couch.

“make me understand.”

heat flashes at the nape of your neck. he takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“how aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. you look at him. hesitant. scared.

the silence is loud. his frown deepens. it takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“you know i’d do anything for you, yeah?”

your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“because you do the same for me,” he continues. you doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

his touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. he slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips where the waistband of his boxers start.

you slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. firm and broad and safe.

“you apologize so much. you worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. one hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“you’re allowed to ask for help.”

you shake your head, a “no” caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“oh, love.” he cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “you have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

he lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. but his cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. you’re so tired.

his lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. you’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

[mockerycrow]

Love your works! May I please get a "don't worry, i'm not going anywhere." with Ghost? Take your time, I love what you write!

400 Follower Celebration

—“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”— With Ghost

Summary: You’re apart of the 141 and Ghost recently had a near-death experience. You’ve been plagued with nightmares about the situation, but you try to hide it from him, feeling selfish about your night terrors. One night, you’re thoroughly convinced Ghost had actually died.

A/N: THANK YOUUU I KEEP BLUSHING ILY AND TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

[WARNINGS: vomit, detailed nightmares, panic attack, gore, fake-death, angst, hurt/comfort.]

It was always the same nightmare. It was a repeat of that one mission months ago—nearly a year ago by now, where you and your team went to grab some important intel about a new uprising cartel that was showing some dangerous potential. It was a large compound, four floors including the basement, wide rooms with many blind-spots. Using your rifle equipped with a heat signature sensor, you swept room to room, leading your team through the building, putting anyone down who dared fired a bullet at you or your team.

You turn that familiar corner and your heart sinks. You’ve tried many times to change the course of this dream, but no matter how frantically you try to scream about what is waiting on the other side of that door, your mouth refuses to work until Ghost rumbles out, “I’ll take point.” You try to fight every muscle in your body to stop this, but it’s like the dream freezes until you continue down the.. “right path”. Quite literally is a living fucking hell for you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it except do what it wants you to do.

“Roger.” You mutter, backing up behind Ghost instead of staying in front of him and leading him the others. The others are always blank faced soldiers in this nightmare, but you know who is who. You pat his shoulder, aimming over him as you walk down the hall close together, hugging the wall. You’ve been through this so many times, you know to eye the floor and you watch the moment happen—Ghost steps on a pressure plate and—BOOM.

You’re always forced to watch it in slow motion; the wall being blown open right next to Ghost, watching the debris scatter everywhere, scraping yourself up as well as Ghost. He raises his arm to shield his face from whatever is happening, unable to process in time that a man wielding a sharp combat knife is pulling his arm back and comes down with it.

You watch the way the knife so easily slides into his rib cage, and it’s almost like you could hear it penetrating his lung like it did—but this time, the man rips the knife out and does it again and again and again—this has never happened before—Ghost’s falling to the ground, his blood splattering everywhere, fuck, it’s like the guy is trying to gut him—but you can’t move. You have to sit there and watch this man. plunge a knife in and out of Ghost’s chest until he finally decides to stab him deep and yank downwards, spilling his intestines and stomach—yet, his lifeless eyes keep eye contact the entire time.

Your eyes fly open, dizzy from your heart pounding and unable to focus, you throw the blanket off of you and you make your way out of whatever room you’re in—you’re too freaked out to know. Your chest aches and feels like there’s a hundred tons sitting on your rib cage, restricting your breathing. You keep walking until you bump into something and you manage to focus enough to notice it’s the bathroom door. Your hand shakily grabs the doorknob and opens it, and you already feel the vomit traveling up your throat.

You end up bent over the open toilet, body heaving with every exile of the contents of your stomach, which by this time of night is mostly just bile. Your head is spinning and your hands keep shaking and by this point, you really don’t care how clean this bathroom is. You lean your elbows on the toilet rim and hold your head in your hands, trying your best to stifle a sob, even though all you can smell and feel is his blood on your fingertips. Your tears drip down your cheeks and collect at your chin before dripping off.

You keep one arm on the toilet seat to keep your head propped up and the other goes around your stomach, which is twisting painfully inside of your gut, ripping another sob from you. You gag into the toilet, but you’ve already thrown everything you had inside. Your throat and nose burns from the stomach acid, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pain of losing Ghost. You just stood there and watched him get gutted—why do you deserve to grieve when you could have prevented it in the first place? Someone killed the Ghost, and you let it fucking happen.

A large hand sprawls across the flat of your back which is accompanied by a low, gritty voice. Whoever it is says something, but you don’t quite hear them. It’s probably Price, trying to comfort you, trying to say there’s one thing you could’ve done to stop it, but you know there was something you could do, anything you could’ve done.

Price calls your name and you go to shove him away, but his hands wrap around your wrists, and the voice is more insistent. You choke on a sob and shake your head, struggling against him until you hear it—his voice. “Fuck, [Name], can you hear me?” Ghost’s voice. It’s his voice.

No. Your mind is playing tricks on you and you won’t fall for it, you won’t let yourself go through this horrendous grief for a second time. You try to curl up into a ball, wanting to grab at your hair or your clothes, just anything but be here. “Look at me.” His hands grab your face and force your face to look at him and..

It’s him. It’s Ghost.

All of your noises stop for a moment as you stare with wide eyes that are full of unfallen tears, eyes full of grief, all for him. Ghost stares back at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you can see the way his hands are slightly trembling—he’s worried about you. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow when he sees your expression of anguish. “Hey—hey, what happened?” Ghost’s voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he speaks any louder. Your hands come up to his mask and touch it and you burst into a harsh sob again, throwing your arms around him.

Usually, Ghost would hesitate. He would be reluctant to reciprocate such personal touch, such desperation, but he pulls you close into his arms without a second thought. Your hands grab his shirt and you breakdown into his chest, wetting the fabric with your tears. His heart slipped a beat because he’s never seen you like this—has never seen you break down this horribly.

He’d be here when you were ready to talk about it, but for now he’ll stay to hold you until your shoulders stop shaking. Ghost moves to sit on his bottom and you whimper in fear, like he’ll leave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”