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lilywastaken · 1 year

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⇝ refuge .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART FOUR OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: After a mission goes wrong, the 141 seek shelter in Ghost's so-called "safe house".

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, blood, wounds, stitching of wounds, mentions of abuse, first fluff in a while.

A/N: My fingers hurt I'm actually going to pass out now goodbye <3 (PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT HELPS A LOT!!!)

WORD COUNT: 11.2k.

MASTERLIST.

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Also on Ao3!

Ghost’s hands were covered in blood.

Although this was nothing out of the ordinary for a trained soldier like him, as he’d washed away many gallons of blood off of him in the time where he’d been on the field, this was different.

It wasn’t the enemy’s blood that covered him, no. It wasn’t even his soldiers’ blood.

It was civilian's. People that had been going about their day. Casualties in the mess that had erupted with a single missed bullet.

It was his fault.

If he hadn’t let himself grow distracted with the banter that erupted from his ear piece, if he had paid more attention to the target Laswell had given him, he would’ve been able to game end them right there and then like he had many before, instead, the bullet lodged right in his chest above the heart, enough time to stun the man but not enough to stop his other hand from clicking the detonator.

The chaos that had followed was indescribable. He could still feel his ears ringing from the explosion that had occurred, the screams of the people he could have saved, the panicked shouts and roars from Price as he ordered them about.

Ghost followed the order mindlessly, his body on some type of autopilot that had been turned on after the shock, taking out the other targets that had been lingering around until the bomb had gone off, his emotion-fueled mind taking out it’s anger on them by tearing them apart in the most gruesome ways possible.

But he knew that covering himself in as much enemy blood as he could wouldn’t wash away the innocent’s.

It wouldn’t wipe away the countless deaths he’d caused.

But as he watched his final victim bleed out on the ground, ignoring their screams of pain and the insults that were being hurled at, Soap’s voice came through his earpiece.

“Bastard’s gone. Cannae find him anywhere.”

Ghost’s blood boiled, combat boot slamming down onto the man’s head to finally shut him up, a last act of mercy and a way to express the anger rushing through his veins.

Even after they’d retreated back to the base they’d made theirs in the outskirts of Berlin during their mission there, Ghost couldn’t shake his disgusting feelings off his shoulders.

He’d never been the one to cause such a massacre like this. It was always some rookie or other, never a seasoned Lieutenant like him.

Soap and Gaz’s conversation was just static to his ears, his mind spiralling as he thought about all the people around the city who had lost a family member today because of him.

It wasn’t the first time in a mission where there’d been casualties. But never as many as this. And never had it affected him like this.

The empathy he’d lacked almost all his life had suddenly made itself known in his mind, the little voice gnawing at the back of his head as it fed him scenarios linked to the mission they’d just failed, impossible if he were to think about them clearly, but right then, he couldn’t stop his heart from beating as fast as it could against his ribcage as he thought about the possibility of you or Tommy being involved in something like that, of having to carry the guilt that would no doubt haunt him all his life if that were to happen.

He fucking hated it.

He’d been deep in thought when they finally arrived at the base, the humvie’s doors opening as the other three stepped out, Price the only to take note of Ghost’s dishevelled state.

“Lieutenant.”

…

“Ghost.”

…

“Simon!” Along with the bellow of his real name, the captain’s hand came down to slam onto one of the leather seats, finally pulling Ghost out of his stupor. “We’re here.”

“Copy.” He grunted, pushing himself out of the car and following his captain and the other two back to base mindlessly, almost like a zombie.

It didn’t get better from there. Even as Laswell reassured him that it hadn’t been anyone's fault, that they hadn’t planned on the man wearing a gun vest, that even if he had succeeded in shooting him down, he wouldn’t be the only one with a detonator as found in one of the man’s lackey’s front pocket, that the explosion would have happened either way… He couldn’t help but still feel horrible.

“Any idea where he is, then?” Price asked, looking through some of the files they’d been given on their runaway.

“Probably went back home.” Gaz suggested, pointing out the address for a flat he had somewhere in the outskirts of Manchester.

“Called the airport, they told us a man with similar build and looks boarded a plane for Liverpool over two hours ago. He’s probably already out of the airport.”

Soap clicked his tongue, looking down at the address Gaz had mentioned before. “That’s his maw’s flat. Reckon he’d put ‘er in danger?”

“Doubt he’d care. He was happy to kill countless people for his cause, including his men and himself, what’s one more?” Ghost grunted, throwing the file down and leaning back in his chair, sharp gaze focused on the digital map Laswell had brought up, looking at the location of the terrorist’s house.

“It’s not near any major buildings and isn’t close enough to the city to cause a commotion.” Laswell noted as she looked over the hills and lakes that surrounded the small house. “Good hiding place.”

“And if he’s not there?” Gaz asked, handing all the files back to Laswell, who gave him a solemn look.

“We keep trying. Go get ready, I’ll call for a heli to take you all back to England. Try and get him, preferably alive, but be wary of any more guards or lackeys he might have brought with him. You’re all dismissed.”

Everyone was armed to their teeth by the time they’d made it back to English territory, night vision goggles pulled above their head as they had realised the trip took a bit longer than expected due to the cargo they had been asked to bring back to England in the process, the sky darkening even further with every second they spent on the helicopter.

“Ghost, how copy?” Price shouted over the sound, elbowing Ghost in the side when he didn’t seem to hear him.

“What?!” Ghost shouted back, forcing out the pressure that clogged up his ears in order to hear properly.

“How are you?! Never seen you this melancholic!”

Ghost huffed out a laugh, tightening the straps of the seatbelts around his chest, as if they were the one putting pressure on his lungs.

“Fine, captain!” He snapped, turning to look out of the small window row behind them. “Just ready to kill this fucking bugger!”

“Copy that!” Price slammed one of his burly hands onto Ghost’s shoulder, an act of encouragement the captain found himself giving to each of his members every time they went on a mission.

After that, the helicopter went quiet, focusing on the mission ahead of them.

Which in foresight, was expected to be relatively easy, a copy of many before them where they’d all come out victorious.

But this one differed.

The target wasn’t even that dangerous in itself, he was just some bloke who had had the brilliant idea to make an organisation that had somehow ended up planting bombs in almost every major city under the government and army’s radar. It hadn’t been up to now where they had finally learned who was behind it and where their next target was, but even then, they’d failed in protecting the civilians.

Something they had spent almost a year investigating, fighting, taking down so many factions across the world to get to the top of the pyramid, the man behind it all.

And fuck, if Ghost wasn’t going to make all the time he’d spent stressed and infuriated out of his mind on a wild goose chase for this fucking guy worth it. If he’d never fucking existed, the task force wouldn’t have gone through all that just to lose him, he wouldn’t have ruined the relationship he’d began with you, he would’ve had a proper go at being Tommy’s dad from the get-go.

But a group of people that had afforded to build and plant so many bombs across so many countries, were to have enough money to hire bodyguards en par with the skill the 141 had.

And that’s just what they had.

Just like them, they were well-equipped with as many guns and weapons that the group’s money could buy, and while normally most men like these were just random guys picked off the street who had had guns shoved into their hands, these weren’t. They were trained, skilled enough to almost knock Soap’s gun out of his hands, and although that wasn’t what had happened, it had given them enough time for one of their bullets to graze his leg, not enough to fully bury itself into the flesh but enough to make him bleed and buckle to the ground.

Ghost grabbed Soap by the scruff of his jacket, quickly disposing of the man that had shot him and pulling him up, letting the scot lean on him for balance.

“Captain, Soap’s been hit!” Ghost roared into his radio, letting Soap lean on the wall while he grabbed some bandages they were always advised to bring and helped Soap in stopping the bleeding that the graze had caused. “Can you walk, Johnny?”

“Feckin’ adrenaline’s runnin’ through me, LT., could carry a horse if ye told me to.”

“Atta boy.” He handed him his gun so he could defend himself while they got out of the top floor. “Sir, the first floor’s clear. Taking the sergeant back to the car.”

“Roger. Be careful, fucker’s nowhere to be found down h- Fuck, Gaz!”

The sound of a gun going off and the roar from their captain made both men freeze in place, the dying grunts of someone coming through the radio before Gaz finally spoke, voice wheezy and hurt.

“‘M fine, just- Fuck, that cunt stabbed me!”

They made their way to the bottom of the stairs, where unfortunately, one of the men was waiting for them, stabbing their tactile knife right into Ghost’s shoulder thanks to the fact that he’d switched off his night vision goggles moments before, and wouldn't have seen them in the dark.

“Fuck, where do they keep comin’ from!?”

“Captain!”

“I see ya! Ghost, Soap, meet us outside, there’s not enough of us to take these fuckers out!” Price commanded, all of them responding with a “Roger!” before barreling their way out of the house, shooting a few more men in the process until they both shoved themselves into the car, Ghost immediately grabbing at the keys and pushing them in, getting everything ready while they waited for the other two, that quickly retreated into the back and slammed the doors shut, the captain slamming his fist into the back of GHost’s seat and ordering him to drive.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Gaz cried out as he held onto his wound, planting his feet on the floor as he realised who was driving, both him and soap squeezing their eyes shut as the blond slammed onto the accelerator, bringing the car out of the rocky driveway of the house and back out into one of the main roads.

As the adrenaline started to fade from all of them, Price lazily raised a hand to grab at Soap’s shoulder, looking down at the bullet wound. “Still in one piece?”

“Yeah… Don’ think Lt. can say the same.” He pointed over to the stab wound in Ghost’s shoulder, that luckily had been right over his tactical gear, so it hadn’t caused as much damage as the perpetrator clearly intended.

“‘M fine, Johnny. Worry about yourself.” He grunted, trying to ignore the pain that came with taking a turn with the steering wheel, every single time he moved his arm striking pain into the wound, the adrenaline from before having done a good job at keeping him from realising the amount of pain he had been currently in.

“What about you, Gaz?” Soap called out, turning his head to look at the other as Price got his radio out, planning on informing Laswell on the second failure of the day.

“Not dead.” He joked, tightening the bandage around the cut on his arm. “Gonna need stitches or something.”

Everyone went silent as Laswel’s voice came through the radio, broken and incomplete, but they could slightly understand what she was saying.

Of course, the terrorists had also managed to hack into their servers while the task force was on their way and had made preparations for when they had inevitably barged into their house to arrest the man.

The base back in London was almost a four hour drive away, and they doubted that their wounds would be in perfect condition after that long of a time, they needed to be disinfected and treated as soon as possible.

“Any safe houses ‘round here that we might have access to?” Price called out, listening to what he assumed was Laswell looking through files.

“None that they don’t have access to.”

“Hospital?”

“Too far.”

All of them collectively sweared, Ghost’s grip tightening around the wheel as he took a right into one of the roads leading towards Manchester, the same road he took every time he came back from base to see you.

You…

“Don’t you live in Manchester?” Gaz called out, kicking Ghost’s seat like a kid asking if they were there yet.

“Not safe. If they have the locations of our safe houses, they have the locations of our own.” Price called out. “Unless one of you has a secret house off the grid or some James Bond mansion.”

Silence filled the car.

Now, it had passed through Ghost’s head when they first started talking about safe houses, but it wasn’t really his house, after all. It was yours, Your space, your flat, your building. Not his. He was nothing but some sort of weird tennant.

And his flat would have been the first place to take them to if it hadn’t been compromised, but now that he knew that that idea was out of the picture, he couldn’t help but continue thinking about your flat. With the safety kit he’d given you once after Tommy had gotten a scratch; with the pullout sofa he used every time he was over; with all the warmth and comfort he wished for every time he finished a mission.

And he knew it wasn’t fair on you, it was extremely late compared to the times he came back in the night, you were probably fast asleep curled in your bed like you always where when he checked up on you; and it wasn’t fair to suddenly just shove three more men into your personal space, but as he took another turn and his shoulder throbbed, as he heard Gaz hiss whenever the car bumped a little, as he watched Soap try his best to stop the bleeding occurring from his wound, he knew that the worries Simon had couldn’t overcome the panic and danger Ghost was in. This was an emergency.

“Know somewhere, sir.” Ghost spoke out, his voice hoarse, as if he’d been keeping the secret deep inside of him for longer than a minute. “Safe house, I mean.”

“You’re certain it’s safe?” Price questioned, Laswell going silent on the other side of the radio as well.

“Positive.”

That’s how he found himself copying the exact route he always took to your place, passing the same pubs, the same shops, the same flats… Up until he parked a few blocks away from yours like he always made sure he did.

“This it?” Gaz asked concerned as he gazed upon a closed Greggs, Ghost letting out a huff of amusement.

“No, a bit further up.”

Since Ghost and Price were the only ones who were able to walk without limping, they took it upon themselves to be the ones to help the other two reach the building, Ghost’s hand inexplicably shaky as he stuck the key in like he’d done over a dozen times before, shoving them all into the elevator.

“Quiet.” He hissed to them as Gaz let out a small pained cry, not wanting to wake up the ever-so irritable neighbours or cause you any alarm if you were still awake.

He felt bad as he slotted the second key into the door, thinking about how scared you could be if you heard him coming, pushing it open with his healthy arm and letting it creek open. “Don’t open any doors. Find a place to sit. Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t interact with anything.”

The three nodded at his warning, Gaz and Soap slumping onto the sofa as soon as they could and Price taking a seat at the island as Ghost slowly closed the door and turned on the light, dimming it down so it wouldn’t alert you nor Tommy.

As Gaz and Soap whispered between themselves, wondering how the hell Ghost kept a house in such a tidy and pretty state (“Reminds me of my maw’s.” Soap had commented, making Gaz nod and laugh.), Simon pushed open Tommy’s door, listening in to the telltale sound of his son’s breaths to make sure that he was okay, turning around to find Price looking at a small stuffed animal sitting on the counter along with a dummy, his eyes wide in realisation as he turned to his lieutenant.

“Simon-”

“Yeah.” He brushed past, tapping on the back of Soap’s head to catch his attention. “Up, I’ll deal with you first.”

“Oh, I’m honoured!” He said in a faux-british accent, lifting himself off the sofa with his help and leaning against one of the walls Simon had placed him against.

“You’ve got a really nice gaf, didn’ expect this from ya.” Gaz commented as Ghost looked through some of the drawers around your flat, trying to remember where the hell he’d seen you put the medkit last.

“Yeah, you're a classy one aren’t ya, Lt.? Place’s better than mine, I mean, have ya seen your sofa?” He chuckled, signalling towards the plush pillows Gaz was leaning against now, the cute crocheted blanket hanging on the back.

Ghost ignored all of their remarks, slamming one of the drawers shut and pulling himself up, nodding towards your bedroom door. “Shut up. I’m going to check the bathroom. Not a word.”

Soap seemingly assumed that the door Ghost had gestured towards was the direct entrance into the bathroom, so in order to help his lieutenant out a bit, his hand moved towards the doorknob while Ghost started pulling off his combat boots, not wanting to make a sound when he went into your room.

But, apparently, the small sounds they’d been making should have been his main priority, by the way you were almost waiting at your bedroom door with a gun raised to Soap’s forehead, ready to shoot just like he’d taught you in a situation like this one.

“Steamin’ fuckin’-”

Ghost couldn’t rid himself of his boots fast enough before Soap’s hand was instinctively around your neck, the adrenaline that was rushing through both of your veins making it easier for him to ignore the pain shooting through his leg to defend himself and for yourself to scratch and pull at the hand around your throat.

“Soap!” Price shouted as he pushed himself off his seat, noting the panic that had filled Ghost’s normally stoic eyes at the mere sight of you in pain, slowly putting two and two together.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Ghost roared, abandoning his shoes as soon as he saw your eyes roll back into your skull, a telltale sign that you were about to pass out due to the scot’s strong grip on your neck, while normally it would’ve taken way longer for someone to pass out.

The sight of your legs going limp in Soap's grasp was enough for Ghost to see red, moving like he did on the battlefield to reach Soap, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him onto the ground like a ragdoll, secretly hoping the grip he’d grabbed him with was strong enough to cause him the same pain you were undoubtedly in, arms immediately rushing towards your flailing body and pulling you into his chest, one of his gloved hands holding the back of your head as the other pulled your shaking legs up.

He didn’t really care that he might’ve seriously hurt Soap, gaze and attention fixed on the tears running down your cheeks and the paleness to your normally warm skin, the wheezing breath leaving you as your body tried its best to regain the breath Soap had just stolen from you, your hands clinging to his tact gear instinctively as you coughed with every attempt to breathe.

Once he made sure you were definitely still awake and breathing, he brought you closer to him, the hold on you similar to some desperate attempt at the bridal style, almost like a mutt protecting its territory.

“What the fuck, were you thinking, Saergant!?” He shouted, glaring down at the man, who was rubbing at his neck looking up at you both in confusion.

“Well, I’m sorry for protectin’ myself against someone who was armed, Lt.!” He shouted back, being helped back up by his captain, who seemed torn between who was in the right and who was in the wrong.

“Did you even stop to think-”

“Oh, because you feckin’ warned me about the armed woman who’d be waitin’ for us!” Soap interrupted, coughing out.

Ghost clenched his jaw, turning to make eye contact with Price, who just shook his head at him, imploring him to just let go.

“We’re all stressed. It slipped Ghost’s mind to tell us about her and you shouldn’t've had reacted like that. You’re both in the wrong.”

Neither of them spoke, knowing that the Captain, as always, was right.

“Go take care of her.”

He didn’t have to tell Ghost twice. He and Soap shared one final glance, one that only they knew what meant, full of words neither of them would dare to share out loud, but they understood.

The gun luckily hadn’t gone off during the whole kerfuffle, letting Ghost lean down and pick it up carefully, clicking on the safety before sliding it into one the spare holsters, not trusting himself enough to carry a loaded gun while you were still in his arms.

He pushed the door open, your coughs continuing as your eyes started fluttering open, trying to drive away the flurry of tears that were still streaming down your cheeks and wetting your clothes, a broken croak of his name leaving you.

“It’s me, don’t worry. Just me, love. Just me.” He reassured you the whole way back to the bed, propping you up onto the soft mattress and letting you fall back, kneeling onto the carpeted floor and letting his head rest against the sweet-smelling covers, lifting his head as one of your hands pawed at his mask.

He tried ignoring you for a few moments as he took the gun back out and expelled the mag, squeezing his eyes shut as another one of your sobs reached his ears, shoving the gun and mag back into the drawer it had been in before finally turning to look at you properly.

“Simon…” You managed to get out, cringing at the sound of your voice, still slightly delirious from the lack of air in your brain. “What… It- It hurts…”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered, grabbing at your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Just breathe f’me. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point, just reacting to every single thing he usually told himself when he was in the midst of a panic attack ever since he was young.

“Who…”

Your eyes darted over to the door, where both of you could still hear the other talk, flinching as one of them spoke a bit too loud.

“They’re with me. Soap, he was the one to… I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you before coming, we were in the middle of a mission and-”

“Oh my god, Simon!” You cried out, startling the both of you. You propped yourself up, shaking a bit due to the dizziness but grabbing onto his non-wounded shoulder all the same. “You’re bleeding!”

In the midst of everything that had just happened, he seemed to have forgotten the stab wound, his free hand coming up to touch at the now drying blood with a hiss.

“It’s fine. Listen, you-”

“No! It’s not fine, oh my god!” You felt a bit queasy as you noticed the blood that also stained his hands and tact vest, hoping to god that it was his even though deep down you knew that it wasn’t. “What- How are you so okay with this!?”

He grabbed both of your hands before they reached to grab at his wounded shoulder, staring deep into your foggy eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”

Don’t worry about him?

He was fucking freebleeding in the middle of your bedroom like it was a goddamn hobby! How could you not worry about him!?

“I’m fine. How’s your throat?” He let go of one of your hands to bring it up to your neck, fingers softly grazing against a few darkening spots adorning your skin, reminders of what had happened before.

“It… It still hurts to speak. Kind of.” You closed your eyes as the tough material of his gloves brushed against you so gently, surprised that such items that had been used to rip countless people apart were capable of a touch so sweet, so soft, so caring…

You swallowed, the movement of your throat beneath his hand quickly alerting himself of what he was currently touching, holding, and making him let go, going back to search for your other abandoned hand, making it easier for him by raising it and meeting his halfway.

“I’m sorry. For not telling you we were coming.” The apology seemed to slip from his lips oh so easily, compared to when you’d first let him in to explain himself, when he’d clearly physically struggled to speak those two damned words…

“‘We’?” You repeated, feeling his hands tighten around yours.

“Soap’s not the only one. Price and Gaz are also here.” He explained, his eyes motioning towards the door. “We were compromised, in a way. Needed somewhere to go, and I just…”

You looked away, already knowing the ending of the short recap of the night, looking down at your linked hands, gaze darting back up to the blood staining his arm.

“It’s… Fine.”

It really wasn't. You knew you had every right to be angry with him and the three other men he’d brought along, this was your flat! Your home, your building, your living room they had no doubt made their own in the small time you’d been in the bedroom with Simon, and without even thinking about the bruises forming at the base of your neck you already had enough reasons to let your anger boil over.

But you stayed silent as he waited for you to snap, to scream at him, to add even more salt in the wound that had formed both mentally and physically tonight; silent as he took your hands and helped you climb out of bed and cling onto him for balance as you regained the feeling in your legs (that were being invaded by the stabbing feeling of pins and needles); silent as he pushed the door open and walked out with you concealed behind him like some tactical weapon.

You were pleasantly surprised to see that unlike your fears the men had seemingly not touched a single thing in your living room, standing next to the kitchen island despite one of them clearly having problems with standing.

He made eye contact with you, your blood running cold as you realised that he had been the one to cause the soreness that now racked your throat, immediately moving to tear your gaze away from him but stopped as he did it first, looking down at his shoes as if ashamed, and by the way he stayed silent while the other introduced themselves, he was.

The captain was nice enough, he clasped your hand in a firm handshake, one that you assumed he’d been practising for longer than you were alive, and he had a very kind face despite the work you knew the four men did, but you couldn’t help but feel at ease in his presence, an effect you assumed he had on everyone by the way they seemed so lax instead of freaking out over the wounds littering their bodies like you would.

Gaz gave you a smile and a nod, not even attempting to outstretch either of his hands to you due to the tear up his arm and the other hand pressing a bloody piece of cloth to the wound in hopes of keeping himself from losing too much blood.

“Soap.” Ghost’s voice came out low and gruff, a tone of voice you’d never heard from him, and you thanked whatever god was up there that you’d never heard it directed to you, because clearly you weren’t as strong as the Sergeant in front of you and would’ve immediately crumbled into fear.

“I’m sorry.” He immediately spoke out, his accent thick around each word as he outstretched his arm, poised out for a handshake. “I hope I didn’ hurt you t’much.”

Although the burn from his hand was still there, a constant reminder for the rest of the night of what had happened, and though it would take a bit of while for you to let go of it, you still raised your hand up to his, clasping it in a much weaker handshake than his Captain’s, but it was firm nonetheless, confirming your “acceptance” to his apology for now.

“I would have done the same if I had your strength, don’t worry.” You tried lightening up the mood, despite the anxiety that still tugged at your mind, letting go of his hand and going back to standing next to Simon, your arm pressed right against his, hoping that his massive frame would do something to help hide you.

A warm hand came up to your waist, the hairs on your body standing on end as Ghost’s breath hit the shell of your ear. “Go check on Tommy.”

Tommy.

Your stomach dropped at the realisation that you hadn’t even thought about your poor son in the whole time you were awake, too focused on yourself to even think about what fear he could be going through after hearing more than the two voices he was used to in the small apartment, your breath hitching as the hand slowly pushed you towards the nursery door, like you were a dog in need of direction.

“Tommy?” Gaz breathed out as Ghost led him to the kitchen sink, letting the man run his arm under the stream of cold water, washing away any of the crusty blood that stuck to the skin, while Ghost continued his search for the medkit.

The man stayed quiet, not even bothering to even think of beginning to explain Tommy, and by association you and whatever relationship you had, already having had struggled enough when deciding to open up to Price about it, not needing to do it two more times.

“His son.” Price answered for him when he saw that Ghost was making no move to answer, the skull-faced man turning to send a quick glare in his captain’s direction before being shot down with one of the same calibre. “Don’t ask more, though. Bugger still likes keeping his secrets.”

Both Soap and Gaz turned to Ghost with matching expressions, dumbfounded by the information they had just been fed, unbelieving that the man they knew as Ghost, the Ghost that they had watched kill people with a single hand, the Ghost that seemingly felt no emotions towards any of them or anyone, the Ghost they’d worked so hard to even get a sliver of information out of him was indeed a father. An actual father, with a real son who had a mother who lived in a nice and cute-looking flat taking care of said son.

After the confrontation between you and Soap, they had quickly assumed that Ghost harboured some type of feelings towards you, whether they were romantic or platonic was still yet to be known (though by the way he had held you so protectively against his chest, they assumed that they already knew the answer to that small conundrum), but they would’ve never guessed that you were the fucking mother of his son, a son he’d kept pretty well hidden from everyone, except Price, like many of the details of his oh-so mysterious life.

“That’s… Nice.” Gaz croaked out, throat having gone dry by the absolute shock that had filled the two Sergeants, gulping as Ghost stood back up to his full height, suddenly intimidated by the man more than usual.

“Yeah. Stay.” Once again, not even bothering to say it in a nicer way, commanding all of them like dogs before entering the room you’d just retreated to and slamming the door closed.

He immediately regretted it, though, by the way you snapped your head around like the girl from the ring furiously, clutching a fussing Tommy to your chest, reminiscent of the first night he’d spent in your flat.

“Sorry.” He didn’t wait for you to respond, taking a few long strides until he was at your side, gazing down at your sweet boy, who was moving around in your arms like he was actively trying to escape you. “How’s he?”

“Fussy. I mean, he’s been sleeping all day, no surprises there. Probably wants to watch some telly.”

“Can’t really do that lying down now, can he?” A gloved finger came down to tickle his tummy, causing him to move around more as he burst into a fit of giggles, seemingly not caring about his father's sudden change of appearance, hopefully assimilating in his tiny brain that all skull patterns equaled dad.

At his response, you sucked air through your teeth, causing him to snap his head towards you in fear he’d said something wrong, taking a step back as he watched you place your hands underneath Tommy’s armpits and slowly take him to the ground, his little duck printed socks touching the floor and causing Ghost’s eyes to widen, mind racing with thoughts that your son might actually be some type of prodigy if he was standing up at this age, but let out a humoured breath as his little bum hit the floor, and instead of falling back like he always did, he instead stayed there sitting, moving his arms around in order to shake your grip off.

“He’s sitting.”

“You don’t sound very impressed.” You said, looking up at him with a bright smile, not being able to help the immense pride you felt as your son ticked off another milestone off the list, sitting down on the carpet behind him and handing him one of the toys littered on the ground, wanting to enjoy this little moment of peace within the confusing and terrifying night you’d had, trying your best to focus simply on Tommy and not with what would come with having four military trained men in your flat.

“No, it’s… Yeah.” You rolled his eyes at the inexpressive tone his voice took, watching him take a seat in front of you and raise his uninjured arm up to click his fingers in front of Tommy’s chubby face, like you normally did when wanting to catch his attention. “Good job, duck.”

You couldn’t help the way your smile widened as you heard him use the little nickname you’d given him, placing your hands on his chubby tummy and tickling his sides, enticing another few happy giggles.

But through them, you heard the sharp hiss that came from Simon as he moved to put his weight onto the other arm, eyes going wide as you realised you’d completely neglected the wound you’d fussed about so much earlier, one of your hands moving to grasp his hands.

“Why haven’t you treated it yet?” You whispered, keeping your distress to a minimum in front of Tommy, but Ghost could still feel the worry that emanated from you, shrugging (as best he could) and looking away.

“I couldn’t find the medkit.” You raised a brow at his apprehensive words, lifting yourself off the floor along with Tommy and adjusting your hold on him.

“It’s where it always is.” You started moving, giving him little to no time to react before he had jolted up and started following, almost crashing into you as you stopped in your tracks once you’d opened the door, seemingly forgetting about the company you’d been thinking about mere moments before. “Oh.”

“Is that him?” Soap said with a smile before anyone spoke, gesturing towards the small boy fidgeting in your arms.

“No. Just some other random kid, Johnny.” Ghost’s hands once again found their rightful place on your hips and pushed you slightly to urge you to continue your walk, a huff leaving your lips at his impatience (although you couldn’t really blame him, you too would be impatient if there were a literal hole in your shoulder), as you made your way back in to the bedroom, feeling Ghost move around behind you as if he were shielding you from the prying eyes of his Sergeants and Captain, who simply wanted to catch a glimpse of the small boy.

“Here.” You called out as you handed Tommy over to his father, opening up the mirror in the bathroom and pulling out the small yet quite big medkit he’d gifted you.

Ghost tried his best to ignore the small bottles of pills he spied along the shelves of the little cupboard as you opened up the medkit, looking through all the items.

“I… I don’t know how to use most of these.” You mumbled, taking it over to him so he could look through it.

“Don’t worry, we do.” Tommy was handed back off to you, no doubt giving the small boy whiplash from how fast he was being moved from one parent to another like a hot potato. “Might need some help with the stitches.”

Stitches.

You willed away the look of discomfort that would no doubt try to show on your face at the mere thought of it.

Now, you weren’t the most horrible person at stitching clothes, you’d fixed a few items for both Tommy and you, and maybe the odd time you’d found a hole in Simon’s hoodie and couldn’t just leave it like that, but the thought of using a needle and string to stitch up a wound instead of the normal cloth made shivers rack your body.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” You breathed out, instead of letting out the worries that swirled about your brain. I mean, these men were dealing with blood and gore almost daily, surely you could manage to deal with a little wound, right?

“Hey. We’ve been treated by worse. Won’t be any worse than doin’ it ourselves.” He murmured, opening the door for you.

And that filled you with some reassurance at first, but as you disinfected your hands and were given the needle and string, you couldn’t help but feel sick, turning your head over to the little playpen you’d purchased a few days ago where Soap was sitting next to looking down at Tommy play. Ghost right at his side glaring down at them, as if Tommy’s personal bodyguard.

“You don’t have to, really. I can try and do it myself.” Gaz assured you with a smile, starting to move his arm away from you.

“With one hand?”

“You’d be surprised what I can do with one hand, ma’am.” He grinned, getting a furious look from Ghost.

You breathed out a laugh, shakily taking his arm into yours and bringing it back to where he had it before, angling the needle to his wound before taking one last look of reassurance up at the man, who only nodded in response.

It wasn’t as disgusting as you had expected, but the sounds and feelings were still uncomfortable.

You finally finished the final stitch, shakily tying the knot before cutting the thread, disposing yourself of the latex gloves you’d put on.

“Is- Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect, love, don’t you worry. Did it better than I ever could.” Gaz encouraged, getting some bandages and helping you to wrap it around his now sanitised wound. “Could easily get a job as a nurse if you ever wanted to, eh? Think Ghost would love to have you on base.”

“That’s enough, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, pushing himself off the wall and nodding down at Johnny. “Get a move on.”

You shared a smile with Gaz before Soap took his spot, albeit a bit more awkward, and raised his leg up to the sofa (you almost had a heart attack before you realised he’d kindly discarded his shoes before doing so).

“Oh, do I-.”

“No need f’stitches. I just need a bit o’help disinfecting it.” He mumbled, always the careful one when it came to cleaning.

“Yeah, okay.” You did just as he had told you to, carefully pouring the alcohol onto the gauze before wiping away any dirt and dry blood from the graze before sticking a clean one over the wound with the help of a few bandages.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of your handiwork as you watched him get up, his limp a bit better now that he definitely knew that he hadn’t contracted any types of diseases thanks to the wound, taking back his spot back next to Gaz and Tommy, the other sergeant moving a little toy around in hopes of attracting Tommy’s attention.

“I’ll help with this one, Lieu-”

“No need.” Ghost interrupted the captain, sitting down on the sofa and immediately sinking it, the piece of furniture still not used to his weight even after all the time he’d been using it. “I’ll help her.”

You nodded with a smile, although it quickly flipped upside down as you realised what dealing with Ghost’s wound entailed, watching him slowly take off most of his tactical gear before leaving him in one of those damn tight shirts, moving the sleeve off the wounded shoulder and letting you see what you were dealing with in full detail.

“Clean and stitch it up. Not that hard, lovie.” He mumbled, his words just for your ears, one warm hand landing on one of the thighs you had curled beneath you on the sofa you were kneeling on. “Just going to be a bit more difficult to heal.”

“Okay.” You swallowed, tugging on another pair of gloves before balancing yourself with one hand on the part of his uninjured shoulder, somehow still feeling the body warmth through the latex.

This was different from Gaz’s wound. While the other man had been looking away the whole time, you could feel Ghost’s sharp gaze on you even as you thread the needle, your body squirming beneath the uncomfortable stare.

“C’mon.” He urged, settling himself further into the sofa to make the next part easier for you, letting yourself take a deep breath before starting without a second though, pleasantly surprised as he didn’t even move an inch with every stitch you made, although you could feel his thumb rubbing over the warm skin of your thigh with every second, your hand giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze every time you tightened a stitch, despite knowing he probably didn’t need the same reassurance you did. “It’s okay.”

It almost felt like you were the one getting stitched up, not him.

You finished with shaky hands, dropping the gloves and needles and patching it up, jolting away when his hand grabbed at the bandages, finishing the job himself.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, the hairs on your body standing up as you realised finally how close you’d been to him the whole time, slowly letting go of his arm and letting them fall back onto your lap.

“It’s fine.” You watched him get up, once again not showing a single ounce of pain or discomfort despite the pain you knew a person who wasn’t desensitised to this type of wounds would be in, your eyes following him across the room until he reached the two Sergeants, who were still trying to gain Tommy’s affection.

When you saw them like that, they hardly looked like the type of men whose job consisted on fighting and killing for a living, they just looked like two blokes you’d find at the pub on a random sunday night, despite the tactical gear they still wore, having fun with watching a kid roll around with his toys.

“Thank you.” Price rumbled from behind you, a hand landing on the headrest of the sofa. “For letting us stay. Feels like no one’s said that yet.”

You shrugged, running your hands up and down your thighs in order to cure the chill that had just run through your body. “It’s okay. I mean… Simon’s done a lot for us, guess I could just repay the favour one way or another.”

Although maybe you would’ve thought of a more traditional way of doing that, one that wasn’t stitching up his men and him in the middle of the night.

“Hmph. Well, considering what good a job you’ve done, I’d say you’ve paid it back pretty well.”

You smiled up at him, not catching the look Ghost sent to you from the other side of the room, looking down at the small boy he was cradling and then up at the time, not having missed the eyebags that adorned your normally bright eyes.

He called your name as he came near, his heart missing a beat as you instantly outstretched your arms out at him, stomach sinking as he quickly realised you were gesturing towards Tommy and not him, carefully bringing him down to latch onto your chest.

“Think we’ll be leavin’ now.” He said, catching both your and Price’s attention.

“Leaving?”

“Where else are you going to stay?” You prodded for an answer, pressing Tommy further into the jumper you’d pulled on.

“We’ll find somewhere.” He looked up at Price for reassurance, but got a not so on board look back.

You looked between the two, who stayed silent enough for you to make a quick inventory check in your head, looking down at the pull out sofa you were currently sitting on and thinking back to the possible inflatable mattress you had stored in your room.

“Simon.” You said, almost like a child tugging on their parent’s sleeve to ask for something. “You can just stay for the night. I’ve got a few blankets and a small mattress along with the sofa. I don’t mind.”

You always felt like you could drown in his eyes when he looked at you like that, glassy eyes filled with concern and apprehensiveness at your words, as if he was assessing the true nature behind them only to find that you were only speaking the truth.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

And maybe, in the heat of the moment, you’d under planned a bit, since you realised mid unfolding some blankets that both the sofa and the small mattress would not fit four people, even if one decided to sleep on the floor, they’d be far from comfortable curling into some random nook or cranny of the flat.

You fluffed up some of the pillows, listening to some parts of the conversation Gaz and Soap were having from inside the bathroom, jumping out of your skin as one of Ghost’s hands appeared on your back.

“I'm going to let Soap and Gaz take the sofa. Price’s alright with taking the mattress.” He explained, hand continuing to rest on the small of your back even as you leaned back up, working on shoving a cushion into its cover.

“And you?” You asked, almost dreading the answer.

He looked away, a faraway gaze on the visible part of his face as if he wasn’t really there with you, as if you were just talking to a shell of a man who someone else was controlling.

“I don’t need to sleep. I’m fine with staying in Tom’s room.” He responded, taking the pillow from your hands and placing it down on the inflatable mattress that lay next to the sofa.

“What? You’re hurt, Simon, you should be resting!”

Silence.

“You’re not fucking superhuman, you know that, right?!” You snapped, grabbing at his sleeve and forcing him to look your way. “You need rest like anyone else. Just because you cover your face and act like you don’t care about anything does not mean you’re special.”

God, shut up! Your brain was shouting at you, unbelieving that you were getting so worked up over a man you’d convinced yourself that you wouldn’t let in no matter what, but there you were, horrified that he had such little care for his well-being that he would rather stay awake all night than find somewhere else to sleep.

“Just take my bed!”

The words were out of your mouth before you even realised it.

And clearly, you weren’t the only one who was surprised by them.

Simon was staring down at you with what you could only assume was a dumbfounded look, his eyes swirling with confusion.

“Your bed?”

“My bed.” You breathed out, horrified with yourself. “It's queen sized, you know that. You’ll fit.”

Silence engulfed the room, a pattern that seemed to follow every single one of your conversations you had in this exact spot of the living room, gazes interlocked together.

“No-”

“Yes. Get into your pyjamas and come to bed.” You said almost robotically, finishing the final cushion before pushing yourself off, quickly walking back into your room before the man could protest. You placed a hand against the wall in order to balance yourself as soon as you were out of his line of view, a shaky hand coming up to cover your mouth in shock of what you’d just asked, no, insisted him to do.

Soap and Gaz apologised for taking so long in the bathroom, letting you take their place so you could calm down a bit alone and in silence, sitting on the closed toilet with a shaking leg, biting your nails as you stared down at the white tiles.

You were so fucking stupid.

What was wrong with you!?

Why couldn’t you just stick to your initial feelings for him!?

Why couldn’t you just have let him do what he wanted!?

Why did you care so much about someone you’d insisted was nothing to you!?

You rested your face against the open palms of your hands, running them up and down until you rid yourself of the urge to want to cry, the opening of your bedroom door immediately catching your attention.

Ghost knocked at the door, making you jump for what seemed like the nth time tonight, calling out your name.

“I need to get changed.”

Your heart soared at the implication behind his hushed words.

Now, you don’t really know what you were expecting for his pyjamas to be, but the black shirt and cargo sweatpants he sported were definitely on brand for a man like Simon.

It’d been a really long time since you’d caught a peak at his arms, since even in the warmest weather possible, Simon always insisted on wearing at least a long sleeved shirt, leaving the rest of his body up to the imagination (which, thanks to that night, you didn’t really need), but thanks to the shirt he was currently wearing, it allowed you to gaze upon his muscular arms and the tattoo that ran the whole way up one of them, remembering faintly the moment he’d let you look at them for a moment before tugging you closer into his chest.

It also didn’t surprise you that he was still wearing the balaclava, although this one was different to the skulled one he normally wore, silver lines running over his chin, like the bottom set of teeth of the plastic skull he’d now discarded, leaving him almost naked in a way, after having gotten so used to him all covered up.

“Are you sure?” He asked one final time, standing at the edge of the bed.

“Yes, Simon.”

His gaze darted away from you as you called out his name, something you’d noticed he’d done the whole night every time you spoke his real name out, despite him never reacting this way when you were both alone.

“Lie down.” He did as you said, getting into the bed and pulling some of the covers up to cover his lap, turning to watch you as you leaned over to turn off the small lamp on your nightstand, the room instantly being filled with darkness after the click.

“You know…” Your voice came out hushed, further down than before, letting him assume that you’d just rested your face against your pillow. “Your skull mask looks silly.”

“Silly?” He whispered back, mock offended, like you’d just killed his entire family in front of him (which would be largely upsetting considering you were his family…).

“Silly.” You parroted, thinking back to the hard plastic skull. “You look like a little kid on halloween.”

“That was the goal.” He lazily joked, moving down so he too was lying on his own pillow, staring up at the darkness that used to be the ceiling, his hair scratchy against his nape and skull due to it being pressed against the material of his balaclava. “...my brother wore a mask like that. Used to scare the shit out of me.”

You let out a huff, impossible of even imagining a little version of your Simon being scared by his brother. “Isn’t he younger than you?”

“...”

“Oh my god, Simon.”

“I was easily frightened.” He said, knowing that if there were any source of light near you, you’d instantly be able to see the blush that no doubt was dusting his pale cheeks. “I was frail as a kid.”

Why was he telling you this?

“Frail?” You mumbled, moving yourself closer to him in order to hear him clearer.

“My dad wasn’t the nicest person.”

He should stop.

“You mean… He hurt you?”

“In more ways than one.”

You shouldn’t know this about him.

“That’s… Horrible. I’m sorry, Simon…”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

“It’s not… You don’t have to act like it is.”

“...”

“Simon.”

Your sweet voice called out to him, your hand brushing against his arm and causing a ripple effect on it, all of his hairs standing on edge at the soft touch.

“Simon…”

“I’m sorry.” He breathed out, turning around, forcing your hand away from him in doing so, leaving you staring at his back in the dark.

Silence engulfed the room once again, your hand frozen in place from where it had been pressed against before, clenching it closed and bringing it back, turning around yourself and snuggling into the nice-smelling covers.

You didn’t even bother trying to continue the conversation or bid him a goodnight like you wish you could, instead keeping the silence going until the inevitable grasp of Hypnos would pull you under.

But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep, even after only having slept two hours that day, even as no sound came through the baby monitor on your bedside table, even if everything was perfectly scripted for you to close your eyes and finally get some rest…

You turned around, feeling around the cold space of the bed that laid between Simon and your sleeping bodies, squeezing your eyes closed before taking a shaking breath.

It was cold. That was it. It was cold, and you felt bad for him.

There was no other reason for why you wrapped your arms around his chest from behind, curling into the shape of his body and pressing your face right against his warm back, feeling him tense beneath your hands.

You stayed there, waiting for the unavoidable moment where he’d try and shake you off like you were some kind of leech, but he didn’t.

Instead, one of his hands came up to rest over the one you had above his heart, squeezing it slightly, his way of telling you that this was okay without openly speaking out.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and pulling yourself closer into his warmth, feeling his heart beat slowly grow steady beneath your palm as time went past.

Simon hoped that the tear streaks down his balaclava wouldn’t be noticeable in the morning.

This time, when you woke up, he wasn’t gone.

Although a bit dishevelled compared to the normal composure he kept, he was there.

The mask had ridden up to his cupid’s bow in the middle of the night, exposing the not very well-kept beard he’d started growing under there, along with tufts of blond hair that peaked out from around his nape.

It was clear you’d both moved a lot across the course of the night, by the way you’d both ended in a completely different position than the one you'd started in, with you on the other side of the bed wrapped up in his arms, your face pressed into his chest instead of his back.

His warm hands were covering your lower back, brushing lightly against the elastic band of your pyjama bottoms, one leg draped over his waist while the other was between his.

You tentatively raised your hand to run your fingers against the hair at the base of his head, curling a slightly long strand around one of your fingers and letting out an amused huff at the curl that formed there.

“Ow.” Simon rasped, although his voice was as monotonous as could be, pulling his head away from your hand. “Ticklish.”

“You’re ticklish?” You mumbled, watching him open his eyes before craning his head away from you, a pop coming from the bone as he stretched, moving onto his back and pulling you with him, letting you curl into his side.

Not one word was spoken during the entire morning about what was going on, about your sudden change of heart (although you knew it wasn’t sudden), about what this night would mean for the two of you moving forward.

Neither of you said a word, afraid that the conversation that would follow would be the one to ruin whatever had happened,

You wandered out of your bedroom an hour after you’d officially woken up, wanting to indulge in the warmth Simon had provided all throughout the night, surprised and a bit shocked (you’d honestly forgotten what was waiting for you outside), Tommy fidgeting around in Soap’s arms as he held him with surprising care and ability.

“Are you some type of expert?” You said with a careful smile, not missing the way his eyes darted down to the bruises around your neck, still feeling bad for what he had done.

“Uh, kinda’? Got four sisters, each of ‘em with their own set of bairns.” He shrugged, the movement making Tommy let out a giggle through his dummy. “Lad was cryin’, couldn’t just leave him there.”

“It’s okay. Thank you.” You felt a bit embarrassed for not having woken up at your baby’s crying, but you were glad that he seemed perfectly happy, clearly enjoying the attention he’d been receiving the past hours. “He’s starting to teeth, that’s probably why he was crying, my poor-”

The slamming down of a mug interrupted you, staring dumbfounded at Gaz, who’d been the one to cause the noise.

“Fuck! Sorry, sorry, ma’am, just-” He wiped away some of the spilt tea (you were even more confused as to where he’d gotten the cuppa until you noticed the captain standing next to the stove with your kettle), looking up at you with darkening cheeks. “Sorry, my arm’s still a bit fucked-”

“Clean it up.” Ghost ordered gruffly as he walked out of the bedroom, clad in most of the clothing he’d worn yesterday, hiding once again all the skin and muscles you’d ran your hands over that morning.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a prick, man.” Gaz grumbled.

Ghost leaned down to you, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden closeness, in front of his teammates no less, but ended up pressing a finger to Tommy's nose, your cheeks going warm out of embarrassment.

“You made tea?” He grunted at his Captain, who shrugged, taking a sip of the warm brew.

“I’ll pay it back.”

“Y-”

“It’s not necessary, it’s just tea.” You elbowed Ghost before he could say anything rude, placing Tommy down onto his highchair before moving to get some of his food and get yourself a cup in the meantime.

“Can’t thank her enough.” Price grumbled to Ghost as you and the other two started a conversation, watching the masked man pour himself a cup before swigging it all down quickly like it was some type of liquor. “For letting us stay.”

“Yeah. I’m going to have to make it up for her.” Ghost answered, watching you try to coerce Tommy to open his mouth for a spoonful of baby food with Soap’s help.

“Seems like you already did, she looks real happy.” Price nudged Ghost, like a father teasing his son for getting his first girlfriend, his moustache twitching as Ghost turned away from him, further pushing the thought that it was just like that type of scenario.

“We should get going. I can’t risk it further.” Ghost responded instead of continuing the banter, pushing himself off the counter and turning to you, Price immediately dropping the funny act and nodding, moving to get some of their things they’d tried to place neatly in one of the corners.

“We’re going.” He announced, heart sinking into his stomach at the disappointment that washed over your face, placing down the baby food on the table and leaning back up to your full height.

“Now?”

“Yes. Soap, go start the car.” Ghost ordered, the scot doing just as his captain had and dropping the smile that had been previously adorning his face, getting up and taking his jacket from Price, not forgetting to say a proper goodbye to you and give you a firm handshake that he hoped transmitted the apology for everything he did, and as you received it with a small smile, he hoped it meant that you forgave him.

“Where are you going?” You asked, watching Gaz and Price reload some of the guns from the other side of the flat.

“Base. Hopefully, Laswell will have backup and we’ll be able to finish what we started.” He said, gloved fingers running over Tommy's soft head, messing up some of the curls that had started to form. “I’ll call you once we’ve finished.”

The look you gave him spoke a million words.

“I promise. I’ll be back, you know that.”

You felt embarrassed at how quickly he’d managed to discern what your look had meant, but nodded nonetheless, saying goodbye to the other two (Gaz giving you a bright smile and Price clasping your hand in his once again, his presence washing away any worry you might have just like last time), leaving the three of you alone in your apartment.

“Duck, daddy’s going now.” You whispered to your son, the small boy clearly having no idea of what you were saying, but giggling up at you as you pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. “Say bye-bye, now.”

You moved his little hand in a goodbye motion, Ghost’s mask moving over his lips as he smiled, raising one of his hands to wave goodbye back.

Despite having done this same song and dance for almost four months now, it still didn’t get rid of the bittersweet feeling that bloomed in Simon’s chest, already knowing the drill as you led him to the front door with a solemn look tugging at your pretty features.

“We’ll talk once I get back, okay? I promise.” He spoke softly as he stood by the opened door, a gloved hand coming up to cup at your face and tilt you upwards so you were both making eye contact. “‘Bout everything.”

“Okay.” You whispered, fighting the urge to lean further into his touch. “I’ll be here.”

He nodded, but his hand still didn’t move.

You waited, for what, you didn’t know. You were slowly getting lost in his eyes when his other hand came up to pull his mask up over his lips, leaning down and softly tugging you upwards until they met your forehead, the kiss short and sweet despite all the pain and darkness that you knew followed him, always a surprise when it came to how quickly he could change from the personality he showed to you and Tommy to the personality you’d witnessed him show to his teammates not long ago.

You blinked up at him owlishly, watching him pull the mask back down and let go of your face (though his touch still lingered) before taking a step back.

“Stay safe.” You repeated like all the other times.

“I always do.” He replied, and like always, he disappeared down the hall.

“No.”

“Oh, come on. He’ll like it!”

“He won’t.” Ghost snapped, taking one last look at the small toy Gaz was waving around, like Ghost was a child to be entertained and he was just being fussy, which really wasn’t that off track.

“How’d you know?”

“‘Cause I’m his dad!” He looked away, already regretting having brought his teammates back to your place and therefore letting them meet Tommy. Maybe he should’ve just let them bleed out back then.

“And you’re honestly telling me that a child will not like this?” Gaz moved it around a bit more, almost tantalising his lieutenant.

Ghost peaked back at the small teddy bear, its fur fluffy and inviting and its black button eyes adorning its little face.

“Just take it, mate. It’ll make me really happy!”

“I don’t care about your happiness, Sergeant.” Ghost snapped, snatching the toy from his grasp and shoving it into one of his pockets, ignoring the bright smile Gaz sent him and the punch to his shoulder.

“God, you’re the best, Ghost. Text me if he likes it, eh?”

He never did text Gaz back, but Gaz had apparently ran his mouth to Soap about Ghost’s reluctant acceptance of the gift, since the next time he saw Soap, the scot had kindly brought a little teddy bear with a tiny Scottish flag in its paw.

And although Ghost wanted nothing more than to rip it up in front of him, he found himself passing them on to Tommy the day he came back to you, “reluctantly” sending each of the Sergeants a picture of the small boy curled up to the two bears.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x fem!reader #ghost fic #cod mwii x reader #— ménage #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty x reader

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 7 months

Text

Random Simon 'Ghost' Riley headcanons

sfw and nsfw

pairing: l.t. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: domestic stuff, afab!reader, size!kink, dirty talk

a/n: and of course a few HC's for Ghostie as well🤭

Simon 'Ghost' Riley MASTERLIST

sfw

-you know those mascots in full-body costumes? Yeah, Ghost hates those, gets on edge each time he sees one. He just gets this uncomfortable feeling in his body bc why go around masked like that?

-yes, he's aware of the irony

-your first kiss, technically, happened with his mask on,

-he wanted to kiss you but wasn't ready to commit fully, showing you his face meant a lot and he wasn't there, yet, so he just kinda directed your face from the TV to him by your chin and pressed his lips to yours despite the clothing concealing them

-you don't scare easily, even if he would disagree, but when having a shadow the size of him creeping up on you silently, which should be physically impossible for someone his size, it always makes you jump

-Ghost enjoys it for some reason, always repressing a smile when you gasp and clutch your chest with a hissed 'Simon!' despising that you never got used to it

-what you don't know is that he actively makes it harder for you, always staying in your blind spot when coming up behind you, silencing his step just like he does on stealth missions

-standard case of you falling first but he fell harder, it was a slow endeavour getting to know him, even slower when you started dating and he demanded that things wouldn't be rushed, but once he opened up he was practically already in love with you considering he rarely did open up to people

-he doesn't like gifts

-contrary to what people think, it's not because he doesn't know how to react, closer to the truth is that he's picky and doesn't like random things coming in surprises

-that's why Ghost always keeps a list of things he wants or is in interested in buying, one that you have unaltered access to just to keep track if you ever feel like gifting him something for a special occasion or if other people come to you when he just won't answer what he wishes for read Soap

-the ONLY casual gift he doesn't mind is when you get him a book, within reason of course bc yeah, he likes to read

nsfw below the cut

-on the topic of books, he doesn't read romantic stuff, if it isn't a book you push into his hands, then he knows what's between the pages: raunchy ass stuff you more often than now want him to act out, leaving you nervously giggling and then panting when he fully went into the role of fucking you silly

-another thing about Ghost that people think, but is wrong, is that he always so reserved

-this man can run his fucking mouth when he wants to

-perhaps others just don't notice, because he doesn't do it with them, but when you're by his side his face is for the most part ducked in level with your ear, making it his mission to rile you up enough so you're the one who grits out 'we're leaving '

-and the cocky bastard knows he will manage too, your resolve wearing down quick when he whispers stuff like 'pretty necklace, lovie, would rather it was my hand wrapped around your throat' and if he manages to catch you off-guard with that, mouth agape kinda surprised, he'll muse 'pretty little mouth like that’ll send a man wild'

-in the Riley household, there's one particular rule: if you buy any piece of clothing, either online or in-store, you're going to model it for Ghost

-doesn't matter what it is, he's gonna sit down in the living room waiting for you to come out for him to drink in your pretty self

-he always twirls a finger in a sign for you to spin around, not because he has any sense of fashion more than the normal man, he just likes to see all how your clothes flatter your figure

-and if it just so happens you only bought a pair of pretty panties or a flattering bra, his rule applies to those too, with the addition you'll come out in only those

-and so help you, but if your tits are on display or that pretty cunt of yours bared, he will not only make you spin but curl his finger, beckoning you towards him

-usually ends with you in his lap as he either plays and sucks at your nipples or you grind against his growing bulge before riding him

-guilty pleasure of his? your obsession with his arms and tattoos

-when you first started seeing each other, he always noticed how your eyes strayed to the ink peeking forth from his long-sleeved clothing, when you both got more comfortable and you saw him without a hoodie constantly, the way you drooled at his bulging biceps made it difficult adhering to his own rule of things going slow

-in fact, the first time you slept together was a consequence of your intrusive thoughts winning during a cuddling session

-you'd been positioned in-between his legs, running your hand over his arm curled around your waist, gaze following those delicious lines running along his forearm and then you just... dragged your tongue over his bicep, licking a long wet stripe on the muscle that tensed upon feeling your tongue

-there was a rumble against your back and a 'what the fuck was that?' making you glance up at Ghost with a sheepish smile with some explanation he didn't fucking buy for a second

-it ended with the both of you kneeling on Ghost's bed as he fucked you from behind, his arms circled around your neck, your nails digging into his forearm, a moaning mess as if you didn't know he killed men just like this but in a tighter chokehold

-so that's why he always wraps his tattooed arm around your front when you cuddle with him behind you, most time also seating himself on your right side, offering you the opportunity to trace the intricate lines decorating his skin

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spookypete-94 · 5 months

Text

House Shopping with Simon Riley

Little drabble right before shift starts at work. Literally what the title says, but with public (not sure if you can call it that) but... having in a relations in a place you shouldn't?? SimonRileyxFemale!reader

Language, p in v, quickie

but just know NSFW NSFW NSFW!!!

Somehow, you had domesticated Simon "Ghost" Riley. It was baffling to everyone, including The Ghost himself. Not to you, however. Loving him was easy in your eyes. Someone so patient as you finding no chore in the task.

And that's why Simon literally bent over backward for you. Never at your request, though. You needed something? He was there with it shortly after you said it would help. Even when you wouldn't say anything. He noticed the tires on your car getting bald, paying for a new set, and replacing the worn ones.

It was the least he could do for you. So when it came to the next step, moving from a small flat to an actual house, he didn't hesitate. It had to be a place to make into a home. Strong, sound four walls to make sure you were in a safe place while he was away. With a nice view preferably with no close neighbors to be watching you while he couldn't shield you. A place with a kitchen for meals, and a big one at that. The bedroom needed to be large and spacious for your bed. Maybe even a few other rooms to fill later down the road with little bodies split of the image of you both. Only the best for his, Love.

Finally, a realtor had found a house with all the list of his demands. Taking the day, he told you to dress nice, business casual. You had dressed in a white crisp cotton collard shirt with a tight pencil skirt, and him in a white shirt matching with a black tie and slacks.

"Where are we going?"

"Lawyer."

"A lawyer?!" You asked, shocked, looking at him stunned while he backed up the vehicle, his arm draped over onto your seat.

"Lawyer." He confirmed.

"What for?"

"You'll see when we get there, calm down."

Fiddling with the hem of your skirt the entire time of the drive, you continued with the same nervous habit in the lawyer's office. Only now, you were bouncing your knee as well. Simon's hand reaching over and squeezing your thigh, his way of telling you silently to calm down.

The lawyer had sat down at his desk with a stack of paperwork next to him. It was about the third or fourth page in the stack that you understood that this had to do with a large sum of money. You just didn't understand what for. Your suspicion signified from a raised eyebrow to Simon, but all he wore was a knowing smirk.

"Just need you both to sign these pages," the lawyer you didn't even know his proper name said.

"What am I signing?" You asked

"Just trust me," Simon said, leaning forward pen in hand and sliding the paper over to you.

You sighed, frustrated, but his words enough to quell your worry and anxiety.

You tried to glance over the paperwork, still looking for any hints of what you were signing your life away too, but the jarble of the language too much to just get by skimming.

"Did you find one then?" The lawyer asked.

"Still have to look at it, but believe so." Simon answered.

Conveniently, all was said as you were signing the last page, leaving you unable to ask any questions. Simon stood up, hand out to you to grab. Feeling annoyed and left out, you did it anyway.

"Good luck," Mr. Unknown lawyer waved to you both as you left.

"Simon," your eyes burning into the side of his head.

"It's a surprise..." he said while laughing, watching you roll your eyes and groaning at the same time ,"I'm gonna show you."

"Show me?"

"Sit back," he said, giving you a side eye, tired of your questions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shock you felt was unexplainable when he pulled into a driveway of a home with a FOR SALE sign in the front yard.

"Si-mon," dragging his name out for effect.

"I want us to buy a home together." Blurting it like it had been killing him to hide from you.

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack. Taking money out of a firm that I've had stored away for a while. This is the house closest that fits what I want to give you."

"SI-mon." The excitement you felt when he told he what he had been planning.

"Come on, realtor is waiting," he said, finally opening his car door. Quickly, you joined him, your heels clacking on the cement driveway with joy.

Just as Simon had said, there in the doorway stood a woman who was there to show the house. Holding a clipboard in a green pantsuit and large black rimmed glasses looking all prim and proper with a large smile. Ready to sell this house.

To say the house was stunning was an understatement. Vaulted ceilings, large kitchen with an island in the middle, pantry just off of it. Multiple bathrooms on both floors of the house. Natural light from the windows for days. Your attention was now looking over the bedrooms. Checking out a smaller closet that was between the master bedroom and guest room. The realtor you had learned her name as Peggy, walking around a room in the opposite direction.

What shocked you was Simon pushing you into this small linen closet and shutting the door behind him.

"Simon!" you said his name for the upteenth time today.

"Shhhhhh," he said grinning deviously as he stood before you.

The hot air from his shushing made your skin prickle, but him removing his black tye in a swift motion made your blood run cold. He made a swift loop after lifting your wrists above your head, wrapping it up around a wooden rod to hold hangers just above your head. Then, he pulled it tight as gently as your torso stretched perking your chest to him.

"So hard, not to touch you like this. " his mouth against your cheek and then into your ear. "Skirt looks so nice on you." Gasping, feeling his teeth nip into the pillar on your neck.

"Need ta' test the bones of this house, make sure it's good enough." Coy with a shit eating smile.

His fingers slipping up your skirt, pushing it up at the same time. There he rubbed against your core, making you moan.

"Shhhh," he said while chuckling. "Can't have Peggy hearing us. Worked so hard to find this house, can't ruin her work now." Teasing into your ear while he rubbed circles into your clit. Instead of taking the risk of getting caught, you leaned your head into his chest, masking your sounds there.

Pushing your panties to the side, his fingers rub your bare pussy. What he was doing was testing the waters, checking to see if you were wet enough to take him. Little did he know, your gates of arousal started to flood seeing him slip his tye off so quickly, revealing the collarbone you love to sink your teeth into.

"Dirty girl," he cooed into your ear while plunging a finger in. The stretch felt good but was pulled from you quickly. Your eyes narrowed at him in disappointment, but quickly changed to euphoria as his cock entered you abruptly.

You bit your lip trying to contain your moans, the whole situation hot to you. His large hands gripped your waist and set you on a narrow shelf, you assumed it was for shoes, but it was perfect for this. It allowed him to enter you faster and deeper. The position brought you closer to the brink, his pace perfect.

Your body was starting to catch fire, slipping your legs around him to pull him closer, sending you over the edge. Trying to roll your head back but unable to find anything to rest it on, let Simon see your eyes roll to the back of your head. You loved the feeling of being unable to move at his mercy and will. Thankfully, he was always into pleasing your needs quickly.

His chest lightly thundering with a chuckle watching you come undone.

His rhythm becomes harder, desperate for his own release. Slamming into you faster, you could feel his hot seed fill you making you whimper as your pussy clamped around him greedily taking it all.

"Good girl," he grunted, slowing down. Both of your shallow breaths filled the small space. Simon leaned down and kissed you as he pulled out. Quickly, you pushed your thighs together while he untied you from the rod. Once free, you pushed your panties back over to catch his cum before it dripped down your thighs and onto your black skirt.

"Like that?" He asked, still wearing his devil grin. Clearly, he was proud of the act.

"Very much so," you said helping him tie his tye.

"Hello??" Peggy said, while looking for you both.

It made you cringe a smile, and laugh amongst each other.

Simon tried to deflect the dirty deed you had just done together. Pushing the door open quietly, stating, "This is a perfect place to use, keep my tyes in." A statement that was a double-edge sword. It is a statement that not only you and Simon understood, but clearly, so did Peggy. Her jaw was slack mouth agape, making you both divert your eyes from her.

"It's perfect. We'll take it." Simon's tone almost boastful as he thought about the other places he would rail you in...or on.

Simon Riley Masterlist

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ghostehe · 5 months

Text

in this life and all the others !!!

alternatively — ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ john price prepared his daughter for everything and that included him being gone. what he didn't prepare himself for was her being gone.

simon riley x fem!price!reader — 𖦹₊˚⊹☁️

warnings — ⋆｡°✩ language. kinda ooc!simon but idgaf. reader may have some specific traits, sorry for self projection, it WILL happen again. kidnapping, allusion to death, blood, wounds, the usual yeeyay with their line of work. john is going through it. reader and ghost are already together.

author's note — ⋆｡°✩ hiii :) my first time ever writing for this fandom and i'm reallllly excited!! i hope you like this <3 fair warning, the reader's sense of style, hair length description, possible field of work may be specified so if that's not to your preference, i'm really sorry for it :( if you would like me to do something like this with some specific points and all, you can just ask me!! i'm sure i'll be able to work with that!! thank you so much for reading, i already love each and every one of you <3

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

it felt wrong to admit it now but when your mother first dropped you at your father's house, he didn't — well, he didn't exactly want you.

it wasn't as if he didn't love you, he did — you were his daughter. but his life had enough chaos to last him a lifetime and he was just fine with staying in touch with you through screens and only seeing you alternately on christmas, that too if the circumstances allowed him too

sure, he wouldn't be there at your parent teacher conferences or have you show him your report cards. he wouldn't get to see you perform extraordinarily in your extracurriculars or have you run towards him with whatever prize or trophy you'd get. he wouldn't always be there at your birthdays and sometimes, he might even forget to mail you a present. he might not get to see you grow up and he might only be just your father and never your dad.

he was fine with that.

so, what would it matter if his heart broke a little when his ex-wife, your mother, called him the night after they had signed the divorce papers and asked him to talk to you because you wouldn't stop asking for your dad? why would he be second guessing himself after hearing your small voice breaking in between as you asked him to come back? why did he get the sudden urge to drive to your mum's house and pick you up and apologize and let you choose the colour of the walls of your room in his house — your home?

but sure, he was fine.

he assured you that he was just a call away, told you to be good for your mom, eat your veggies, be nice and kind and then bid you goodbye. he tried hard not to pay attention to your cries as your mum took the phone from you and apologized to him, explaining that you just missed him.

'she just misses you, john,' and he was ready to break down then and there. you needed him, your dad, and he was refusing to be there. refusing to let that shadow of his work even fall on your shadow for a second. refusing to let you be a soft spot for him because that was the most dangerous thing a person in his line of work could ever have.

'she'll get over it soon, forget her old man and all,' he tried to laugh it off but his voice broke and before your mum could say anything, he hung up.

the next time he saw you, you were at his door, standing with your luggage behind you and your mother. he noticed that her own luggage was still in the cab and it didn't take long for him to figure out what was coming. he had tried to explain himself, explain why exactly he wasn't cut out for this and that he was very happy with seeing you every other weekend. all while you stood near the staircase and stayed quiet.

your mum left and left you behind with a father who didn't even remember his daughter's favourite colour.

he remembered the look on your face and the way you tried to make yourself as small as possible, taking the least amount of space you could. you had just turned ten, your birthday being one of many that john would eventually come to miss and he looked at you like you were still that same one year old baby who pulled herself up and walked to her dad.

he grabbed your luggage and one of your hands and walked you up the stairs and into one of the rooms down the hall. it was mostly empty, a twin size bed and a dresser drawer spread out with a wardrobe in the corner but he figured you'd be fine.

if he saw you pause at the walls being your maybe-favourite colour, he didn't say anything.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

"what do you mean?"

"john — "

"stop, just — stop," john took a deep breath, exhaling shakily as he broke eye contact with laswell and looked away. his hands ever so slightly shaking came up to fix his signature hat as he pointedly ignored ghost's gaze piercing him from where he was listening to everything at the back of his office. "what do you mean?"

"we're trying to locate — "

"that's my fucking daughter and you swore that this wouldn't ever catch up to her!" john snapped, his voice firm and sharp as he desperately tried to hide the tremor in his words. "you — you guaranteed that my line of work would never catch up to her and that she'd be safe and she'd be fine and now she is — "

he cut himself off with as soon as his voice cracked, looking away as he shook his head, shaking the concerned and empathetic eyes of kate and the blank stare of his lieutenant. deep down, he knew that she was doing everything she could to locate you — the whole base was. with soap leaving no stone unturned as he investigated the residence, gaz checking the cameras installed out the place and the street to find a trace of anything, kate herself flying down to the base to do everything she was capable of doing and ghost doing... something, everyone was on it.

but still, you were his daughter.

his daughter. the one who always waited up for him ever since you learned that your dad would be away for a while but he'd come back. the one who called him 'old man' but cried and got upset whenever he tried to have the 'when i'm gone' conversation with you. the one who made cards for every single occasion, cards he still cherished with his everything. you were his everything and you were nowhere to be found.

in a way he blamed himself, he always did. whether it'd be you catching a fever or not having all of your project supplies, he'd always blame himself. he'd continue to do it until someone — more often than not, kate — came by and knocked some sense into his head, told him that one shortcoming doesn't make him a bad dad.

his eyes glanced around the room, anything to prevent him from looking into the empathetic gaze of kate because it felt like she had already accepted that you were gone. you were not, you were just taken — taken from him and he needed to get you back.

he locked eyes with simon and took in his appearance for the first time since he came into the room. truth be told, nobody really saw him coming in, nobody even called for him to be in here. he just showed up and john knew that it would be futile to get him to go out — not that he wanted him to go. it was weirdly comforting, having simon in the same room as they discussed what to do next. maybe it was because they both had the same goal in their mind, get you back or maybe john had just grown familiar with his presence after countless mornings of him descending down the stairs to see him and you at the breakfast bar. whatever it was, john was grateful simon stuck around.

looking at him, everything was the same, not one thing out of place but john knew different, he knew better. he could see the small specks of blood decorating his infamous skull mask and the empty holster attached to his thigh. he could barely make out the dark spots on his glove but if he strained his eyes enough, he'd find them.

he wasn't looking at simon, he was looking at ghost.

john knew that ghost hadn't expressed one percent of what he actually wanted to express. he knew as soon as he stormed out of the room when laswell broke the news to the team and returned a couple hours later, gloves discarded somewhere and his knuckles stained with blood. he kept his mouth shut, mind running haywire as he tried to plan out anything, anything to get even a sliver of news about your whereabouts.

he could feel kate stare at him with calculating eyes and something akin to guilt swimming in them. he could feel simon stare at his form as he paced around the room, hands fidgeting as he fought the urge to call soap and gaz every minute.

kate's gaze didn't bother him, simon's did because it mirrored his hopelessness.

he was so lost in his own guilt and desperation and defeat that he didn't hear the footsteps thundering down the hallway, not until they were right in front of them and the door slammed open. it was only then he looked to see soap panting, a small piece of paper in his hands and he pointed to it back and forth and for a moment, john could feel the sickening sense of hope swell in his chest.

gaz was right behind soap, seemingly in a better position to speak than the latter and plucked the piece of paper from his teammate's hands and held it out for john to see.

"what — "

"we managed to trace the owner of the car that was seen going around your block more than eighteen times," gaz informed, eyes flickering to ghost who had now made his way towards their small group and back to his captain in front of him. "the car was brought under a very... creative way, three shell companies and we traced each one of them back to a single corporation."

"they have these warehouses, right outside of the town," soap continued, taking notice of the desperation in his captain's eyes and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, "it's a very good chance she's there."

"how sure are you?" it was the first time ghost opened his mouth ever since he joined john and kate. his voice gave away nothing and to anyone, it must have sounded like he was just talking about any other mission but john knew that it took everything for him to keep his voice steady and strong.

"damn sure, lt."

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

john remembered the first time he had the 'when i'm gone' talk with you.

you were eleven, and it killed him inside when he realised that he would have to make you understand the risks in his line of work.

he remembered the way you threw him the dirtiest look you could muster, the most withered glare set on your face as soon as he said the words and he had to stop and blink in surprise because goddamn, his daughter was scary.

he remembered the way you shook your head at his every 'understand?' the way you tried to run off to your room and you would've, if not for his arms shooting out to catch you before you could bolt. the way you told him to be quiet as politely as you could when he continued, denial in your eyes at the prospect of your dad going away and not coming back.

he remembered his heart cracking in two when you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and he almost stopped himself, cursing himself in his mind because you shouldn't have to sit here and listen to him telling you what to do in case his dog tags came back and he didn't.

you managed to get yourself free from his hold and rush upstairs to your room and he didn't have it in himself to call you back down and you both left it at that.

the second time he tried to have the talk with you was when you turned eighteen and he got shot on a mission.

the way you looked at him when he woke up in the hospital still haunted him on nights when he couldn't sleep and he knew that he was basically torturing you with this. going away and not providing any guarantee that he would come back but he couldn't.

he could leave tomorrow and say that he'd be back in time for christmas and there would still be a chance that he'd end up coming back home in a casket.

he couldn't give you the security of his arrival but he could prepare you in case anything ever happened and he did. he set apart bank accounts for you, under a different name and a different address. he brought two different apartments in the city, under a different name and a different address. he brought a small house and trusted that you would make it a home, under a different name and a different address. he made sure that you would be okay if he left, after he left and he knew he did a damn good job with it.

you didn't do the same.

he prepared you on how to live if he went away before it was time but he never prepared himself for if, god forbid, you were gone. he never had to because what kind of father would want to come to terms with the knowledge that their kid could leave before them?

"hey — hey, honey," he brushed the hair out of your face, his facade slowly crumbling away with his fingers came back stained with blood — your blood. his gun lays discarded next to him and he almost wants to go back and bullet a few more bullets in those bastards' heads for your condition. "you still with me?"

"dad..." you whispered, eyes fluttering close with fatigue and blood loss as your head rested against the wall. he could see the way you forced your eyelids to stay open, your grip on his hand weak and so delicate that he wanted to scream.

"i'm here, i'm here," he murmured, stroking your cheek to keep you awake while you both waited for the clear signal from the rest. his hands were shaking and he was sure that his heartbeat could be heard by everyone else on the comms but even then, he had to be strong. "i'm here, my sweet girl."

"you know," you forced these words out, eyes unfocused and dazy as you made an attempt to smile at his terror stricken face, "now's my turn to do the 'when i'm gone' talk. you already had two chances."

"NO! no — no, no," he shook his head, eyes blurring ever so slightly as the chaos over the comms became white noise to him. "we will never be having his conversation. ever. i'm supposed to go first and it'll be me. i don't care if i have to fight the fucking grim reaper for this, it'll be me and never you, you hear me? never — never you."

"when i'm gone," you continued as if he didn't practically tell you that he'd fight the devil if you went first and held onto his hand just a little bit tighter, as tight as your wounds would allow you to, "i want you to continue to invite simon around."

"darling — "

"no, please. i know you both and i know you'll just go away from the things that remind you of me and i don't want that," you talked quietly, your voice dipped in pain and john used his free hand to apply more pressure on it and when you didn't really wince or made a move to recoil back, his panic grew. "you both will remind each other of me and i don't want that to just hurt you more. invite him over, have tea, talk shit about me and — and just, keep him company. keep yourself some company."

"none of that is happening because you're not going away," john spoke sternly, his eyes determined and so confident that for a moment, he himself believed that you'd walk away from his alive and breathing. "we have years ahead of us and someone needs to be with me to make fun of riley for liking that stupid sitcom."

"i want you to be happy, dad," you continued, eyes fluttering close and stay shut for me even a longer time now and john panicked. "always happy."

"only when i have you," he shook you awake, your eyes shooting open at the motion and he almost cried in relief. he set you firmly against the wall and withdrew his hand from your grasp to talk over the comms. "lads, how's it looking?"

"positive, i believe. how's our miss soldier doing, sir?" gaz asked and john heard the occasional shower of bullets from his side and figured they were still stuck in the crossfire. "any damage to that billion dollar outfit of hers?"

"well, it's stained with blood now, so," john replied dryly and could feel gaz draw in a sharp inhale at that and figured he'd be out of the harm's way soon. "keep me updated."

he knew ghost was nearby, could feel his boots echoing in the almost empty hallways down the corridor and knew that you both were safe and secure. it was only when he looked away from the corner and back towards you that he noticed your limp hands and the way your head was slumped forward. he hands shook as he cupped your face and called out your name, almost hopefully.

"darling? honey, you gotta wake up," he spoke, almost inaudible and his own voice sounded foreign to him. it sounded too hollow and he hated that it looked like he had already accepted that you were gone. you were not. "come on, love. don't do this to your dad."

his hands were shaking terribly and blood smeared across your cheeks but he didn't care. all that he cared about was that you were there, still and so silent in his arms and you were not answering him. his could feel his heart break. he could make out exactly where it hurt him physically as he repeatedly called out your name and you did not respond.

heavy footsteps sounded from behind him and he didn't have to turn to know that it was simon — ghost, in that moment. he didn't have it in himself to turn. partly because you were here in his arms right now and if he turned, you being gone would be reality and he didn't wanna face that. partly because he didn't want simon to see you like that. blood trickling down the side if your head, face smeared with blood and a wound in the abdomen. no, john wanted simon to remember you happy, smiling and alive.

he wanted simon to have that much, even if his own last memory of you was you begging him to stay happy after your death.

and he thought about it. as he cradled your body close, rocking back and forth, he thought it was simply impossible. as if he'd ever be happy again without you here.

he didn't notice simon walk closer, didn't see him walk around to crouch in front of him and only realised that he was here when he called out his name. he couldn't even hear it clearly, high pitched ringing in his head and blurring images in front of him, the feeling of your blood on your hands, it was all just too much.

" — tain? captain?" simon called out, his eyes locking with his and john knew that it costed ghost his everything not to stare at you. his skull mask laid discared next to him, his signature balaclava in its place as he kneeled down. john could see the way his hold on his gun was too loose and the way his hands were trembling just the slightest bit as placed his gun back in his holster. "we need to get out of here."

"doesn't matter," john replied, his voice not giving away the turmoil in his heart and the war that was going on in his head. "she's gone, ghost."

"cap — "

"my daughter, she — fuck, my kid," john exhaled shakily, his hands carefully pushing away the strands of your hair out of your face. "lord, i don't have a child anymore."

"captain — "

"you don't get it, i'm not a father anymore!" john exclaimed, his voice breaking in the middle of the sentence as reality settled in. the weight of it seeped into his bones and he knew that he would carry its weight for the rest of his life. until he saw you again. "i'm not a dad, anymore."

he couldn't let you go, couldn't place you down and let you be gone from him. he couldn't accept it and why would he want to? what kind of father would he be if he just accepted that he was never going to hear someone call him 'dad' ever again? he'd never hear the words 'i love you, dad' or 'good morning, dad' or see your face smiling at him after he came back from a particularly long and stressful deployment or have you hug him whenever you got a nightmare or drink tea with you and simon as he joked about your relationship with his lieutenant. how was he going to accept this cruel and wretched version of reality?

"you'll always be a dad, captain," simon spoke quietly, his hand reaching out to smooth your hand down and just like his own hands, john noticed that it shook. "always gonna be her dad."

john couldn't do anything except watch. he tried to move, his mind screamed at him to move but his body caged him down. the dead weight of you — his daughter — weighted him down and for a moment, he was so sure that he'd feel this weight for the rest of his life. because, how was he supposed to forget the way you asked him to be okay after you? how was he supposed to be okay after you?

how was anyone supposed to be okay after you?

he blinked, eyes stinging with tears that he refused to let down and looked towards simon who was too quiet. john looked at him, watched him as he leaned down until his forehead was pressed against yours and felt an invisible knife twist around his heart. he could see the balaclava move and figured he was saying something to you but the ringing in head refused to let him hear anything, though, he thought that he heard the words 'come back' and 'don't do this to me' and felt his heart break some more. he had never — never — seen his lieutenant look so hopeless. so defeated. not when he found out that you both had broken up for some indefinite reason, not when he got injured on a mission and the only thing he asked for was you, not when you had made it your mission to paint his nails and only relented after his nails were a shade of wine red.

no.

john had always seen ghost so full of life around you. he had always seen his eyes crinkling at the corners as he spoke to you in low tones, always seen his shoulders dropping from their usual tense posture whenever he was around you. he had always seen him as simon around you.

john looked at him and realised that not only did he lose his daughter, simon lost the love or his life. he lost the one thing and one thing only that made him the happiest. he knew simon loved you even though he hadn't said the words out loud out, he knew he loved you. it was evident in the way only you were allowed to hold onto his mask for him as he adjusted his balaclava, in the way he always listened to you speak about anything and everything under the sun and never once interrupted you, in the way he always brought back something for you from his missions, ranging from a rock to a dried flowers.

john looked at him and realised that at any cost, he'd have to make it through this, for simon. for your promise.

for you.

he nodded, not trusting his voice to say anything and moved to stand up, your head lolled against his shoulder as he placed his hand under your knees while the other wrapped around your shoulders. he stood up as carefully as he could, as if any movement would cause you discomfort and held on tighter to push himself to be on his feet and — you whimpered, your wound pressing against his vest and your dad stilled, frozen alongside simon whose eyes shot towards your face as you stirred, your expression scrunched up with pain.

it didn't take more than a second for ghost to abandon his gloves and check your pulse as you went still once again, forcing his hands to stay still. john pretended not to hear him whisper 'please' under his breath as he placed his hand on the side of your neck, mainly because he knew he would break down if simon didn't hold himself together.

he looked at ghost who nodded and then he was already off, walking swiftly in front of john and you as he put on back his gloves and drew his gun to clear out anything that could show up, making a path from their corner to the evacuation point. john walked as fast as he could without jostling you and mumbled rapid apologies as you groaned in pain.

"we're heading out," ghost informed soap and gaz who were on the other side of the floot, drawing out any left hostile parties left. he filled them in your condition and in less than thirty seconds, they were running towards the three of you, panting and guns drawn. "she has already lost consciousness and we need to get her back."

john could only walk wherever ghost turned, his movements a bit too robotic and as they cleared out the building, the only thought he had was you, your safety, your life.

he doesn't remember much of the ride home but judging by the blood — your blood — on his hands and clothes, and the number of times gaz asked him if he was okay, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

"so, i pass out from the pain and blood loss and your first guess is that i'm dead?"

"well, when you put it like that — "

"there is no other way to put it!" you laughed, instantly regretting your decision to do so as the action pulled on your stitches. "fuck — that's a bit dramatic, don't you think? did you even check my pulse?"

"listen — i was not thinking. my girl was just laying there in her own blood, what was i supposed to do?"

it's been more than a couple weeks since you've been discharged from the hospital, stitches in your abdomen and the side of your head but it's mostly inconvenient rather than painful if you could be honest and john and simon both know this because you have expressed this opinion far too many times.

john and simon both disagreed.

you wish you could say that they had toned the whole scary-guard-dog thing down ever since you got discharged from the hospital but you'd be lying. if anything, their protectiveness dialled a few notches up. if your dad was busy with something, simon stayed with you and vice versa.

now, your dad was protective. you had always known this. if you thought that there was no way he'd be able to get more protective than he was before this whole ordeal, you thought wrong. you weren't allowed to get up from your bed unless it was to stretch your muscles — (simon volunteered to help you with that. you dad threw his boot at him. thrice and then one more time for good measure.) — or to use the bathroom. you were on strict diet for the first week, mainly consisting of fluids and lots of proteins alongside the years' worth of medicine you had to take. he stayed home, officially on leave until he was sure you wouldn't collapse after standing for more than seven seconds and then he stayed for an extra week simply because he wanted to.

("i think i can pick up the remote without popping out my stitches."

"'m not talking any chances, kid.")

and then, there was simon.

if you thought that there could be no more increase in the protective measures after your dad, simon set out to prove you so wrong.

he stayed with you even after your dad went back to the base and that meant he stayed with you. you couldn't move an inch without his hand coming up to stabilize you — you told him you didn't need it, he disagreed — or just straight up pushing you back to sit down, gently and doing whatever you were out to do. it made your life just a tad bit difficult but you knew this was coming from a place of love — and fear.

"i'm okay," you smiled softly at your boyfriend, hands intertwining with his as you both laid on the couch while your dad worked in the kitchen, occasional shouts and gasps announcing his continued presence. "i'm okay."

"the fuck? you are not," simon's eyebrows were furrowed and you fought the urge to lean up and kiss the spot until he relaxed, partly because it would put pressure on your stitches and you did not need another lecture on basic medical knowledge by your dad and your boyfriend again. "don't make me tie to your bed."

"don't threaten me with a good time," you laughed softly at his blank stare, squirming away as he poked one of almost healed bruises. "fuck you."

"you're injured, not now," you could practically feel the smirk behind his mask and gave him the best unimpressed look you could. "stop lookin' at me like that."

"when was the last time you slept?" you ignored his advances and slapped away his hand that was coming up to tug you towards him, looking him in the eye. "you look worse than me."

"i'm breaking up with you."

"no, you're not."

"no, i'm not," simon sighed, his hand coming up to run through his grown blonde hair that he had intended to get cut — not by you because he doesn't trust you with scissors anywhere near his head. "i slept last night."

"liar," you narrowed your eyes at him, taking in the dark circles around his eyes and the way his eyes were droopy and how his eyes remained close when he blinked. "i heard you watching that movie you told me you hated."

"i was not — "

"simon," you sighed and he stopped speaking, knowing he was in for a lecture from you about his sleeping habits and his biological sleep cycle — something you wasn't even sure existed in his body. "love, why haven't you been able?"

he stayed silent, his hands fumbling with your hands and twisting your rings around your fingers. he almost smiled when he noticed the ring that he had made for you on your ring finger, a small 's' in the middle with a semblance of a tiny heart next to it.

"haven't been able to," he replied finally, his voice gruff with faux annoyance directed at your ability to coax answers out of him just like that. "too much going on."

you knew what he meant by that. the last couple weeks have been hectic to say the least and you couldn't help but feel guilty about being a part of the reason for your boyfriend not being able to sleep. "i'm sorry."

"shut up, what for?" he rolled his eyes and placed a fleeting kiss to your cheek, very near to your mouth before leaning back. "i'd take a few sleepless nights over your bleeding out any day."

you didn't say anything, just tugged on his arms firmly enough to make him get the hint and settle back into the mountain of pillows you had brought down from your room. he looked at you, a confused look in his eyes but complied as you pulled him towards yourself and wrapped your arms around him, smiling when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck and finally, relaxed. he pulled back just for a moment, one of his hands coming up to squeeze yours when you frowned at the lack of contact while the other one pulled away his mask, leaving his face bare.

you had seen his face many times but each time, you found yourself falling in love more and more. you knew each and every scar that adorned his face, every inch of uneven skin. you had spent nights kissing all that he thought made him ugly and promised him that he thought so wrong. you said nothing as he looked at you once again, eyea squinting at you playfully before he was back in your arms.

"i love you so much, you know that?" you whispered, your hand playing with his hair. you could feel him press feather light kisses to your neck, his breath fanning over your exposed skin making a trail of goosebumps and you didn't mind it one bit. "you know that right?"

he hummed in reply, pressing himself as close to you as he physically could. you didn't stop playing with his hair, knowing how much it relaxed him and soon him, he went completely still next to you, his grip on your loosening just a bit as he went slack. you couldn't help but admire him when he was like this, his face free of the usual scowl that he pulled up with him at every table, the furrow of his eyebrow that you always kissed, the frown that he had whenever anyone spoke, it was all gone.

you didn't hear your dad come in, a tray of three steaming cups of tea in his hands and settled it down on the centre table, proud of himself. he picked up your usual cup, strawberries drawn on it with a few daisies in the middle spaces and gave it to you, smiling softly before turning to look at simon — who to his surprise, was fast asleep against your shoulder.

"he's knocked out," john remarked, making a mental note to make another cup of tea for simon whenever he woke up and settled back into his designated chair adjacent to yours. "never saw him this... relaxed."

"yeah, well," you sipped out of your cup before placing it on the side table, eyes flickering to simon's still figure before looking back at your dad, a small smile on your lips, "he's been pretty set on not letting me lift a finger."

"he's worried about you," your dad nodded and you couldn't help but feel your heart flutter. "never seen him so out of mind. you know he loves you, right? he would fold the earth in the half if anything happened to you."

"i know, dad," you replied, eyes locked on simon as he slept next to you. you could see his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, his lips slightly parted as he breathed in and out evenly. "i don't even know how i'm supposed to tell him just how much he means to me. i don't know where to begin."

"he knows," he stated, sipping out of his own mug — with small yellow crowns — and setting it back down. "you'll both make it, you know? don't need to see the future to figure that out."

you knew what he was talking about.

you'd make it. of course, you would. it was simon who held your hand randomly while you walked around your town. it was simon who made sure that you were always stocked up with your favourite candies and chocolates. it was simon who learnt how to make paper rings because you were singing that song about how you'd marry him with paper rings. it was simon, always.

and even if this lifetime was enough for you, you knew that you'll find yourself falling for him in every other life. in all the universes out there, in every version of reality, you'd find yourself in love with him. you knew this much, you felt it in your bones.

maybe in another life, you would've seen him from across the bar and he would've sent a drink your way. maybe you would've ran into him at a coffee shop and he would've asked you your favourite blend. maybe you would've been childhood friends and he would've always been in love with you.

it would always be you and him.

"yeah, i know."

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

357 notes · View notes

sstormyskyess · 5 months

Note

so glad i came across your blog. wondering if youu could write simon riley x f!reader where she was a former royal marines and he didn't know and found out after she got called back for a mission. maybe she's a captain?

thank you, love

-V

Glory Days

author's note: thank you for my first request!! i’m glad you found my blog and thought me worthy enough to request something for me 💜 i hope you enjoy!

cw: fluff, military reader, fem!reader, simon being anxious

word count: 1900+

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader "Finch"

♡ Being in the Royal Marines wasn’t necessarily something you were embarrassed about. It was more a matter of wanting to get a fresh start at being a regular civilian, far away from the battlefield. That’s why your previous enlistment never came up in conversation when you met Ghost and got to know each other better.

♡ When you and Ghost eventually entered a full relationship, he was surprised by how understanding you were about his occupation and the things that came with it. You were also very curious about his military activities, something that no other civilian in his life ever had been.

♡ It was about a couple years into your relationship when you got a letter from your previous commanding officer, requesting your services again since they thought your skills would be valuable for that specific mission.

♡ You were hesitant to accept, but eventually you did and you found yourself on your way to meet with your commanding officer and talk business. You didn’t know, though, that your very own boyfriend would be serving on the same mission.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Delta 2-1.” Captain Price says with a smile on his face. You smile in return and give him a firm handshake. “Please, call me Finch.” You correct him happily. “The pleasure is all mine. I’ve heard good things about you and your task force, Captain.” You put your arms behind your back with perfect poise, and give a nod toward the main building, walking off with Price in tow.

Simon stares from across the tarmac. His thoughts were racing, confused out of his mind. He almost had to remind himself to breathe, the amount of questions bouncing around in his head taking over all other thoughts, even his base instincts.

That’s why he almost imperceptibly jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder, tapping twice. He glances over to the person connected to said hand: Soap. “She’s one hell of a question mark, eh, L.T.?” He joins Simon in staring at the direction you and Price walked off to, shaking his head. “Heard she’s gonna be serving in place of Price. You know anything else about her?”

Well, he certainly did know about you. A lot of things about you. Why? Because you were his girlfriend, possibly soon to be fiancée. The only thing he didn’t seem to know about you was why exactly you were here, talking to his superior and ready to head out onto the same battlefield he’d been preparing to deploy into.

“No.” He answers simply. There was a reason Soap didn’t recognize her. He did his very best, and would do anything to keep his personal life and professional life separate; that’s why no one on the task force knew that he was romantically involved with anyone, save for Laswell. She knows absolutely everything, as much as it got on his nerves. At least she was good at keeping a secret. But now, here you were, present and apparently active in his work life. He sighs and looks over to Soap. “Tell the old man I’ll be in the weapons’ locker, if he asks.” He walks off and ignores whatever Soap was questioning him about.

♡ Ghost was shocked that he didn’t know about this particular part of your life, and he was even more shocked that you were actually considering going out on the field.

♡ It wasn’t that he doubted your abilities—quite the opposite, actually—but he was worried you’d get hurt. He was a powerful man but even he still managed to get hurt sometimes. So, knowing that you’d be at risk had him shaken up.

Simon lets out a heavy sigh. “Love, I need you to promise me you’ll be safe.” Simon has his hand on your shoulder, looking you up and down in the heavy tac vest you were adorned in. It was something he never imagined he’d see on you; it was pretty attractive, in all honesty, but he isn’t particularly focused on how attractive his lovely partner was.

He’s mostly concerned about the fact that you were about to be heading onto the field, assigned to a different team and dropped off in a location multiple klicks from where he would be. You shake your head and rest your hand on top of Simon’s. “I’ll be alright, Si. I promise.” You give him a comforting smile, taking his hand and holding it in yours. “This is nothing I haven’t done before.”

You look over Simon’s face, meeting his brown-hazel eyes and inspecting them: reading his thoughts. His eyes were so expressive, just as long as you knew what to look for. You could tell he was overly worried. You could also tell that he was fully prepared to blame himself if you got hurt out there. You swing his hand back and forth slightly, your own thoughts coming to the surface.

“You’ll be careful too, right?” You ask, your thumb running along the back of his knuckles. Simon sighs again and squeezes your hand in return. He was a calculated man but he was still susceptible to making decisions that would save his team, even if he would be putting himself in danger. Having you on the field with him was bound to make it worse.

But regardless, the last thing he wants is to distract you. Him getting himself into trouble was bound to draw your attention away from the mission. So, he nods and pulls his hand away, thinking for a moment. He wraps one of his arms around your waist then pulls the bottom of his mask up with the other.

Your eyes widen for a moment, taking a look out of the small alley between the buildings to make sure no one is watching. He takes your chin and rests his forehead on yours, kissing you gently. You lean into it, reaching up to his cheek to caress it. The two of you meet eyes once you pull away and stand there, gazing into each other's eyes for a few moments before Simon finally pulls away. “We’re wheels up soon. Let’s move.”

♡ He wasn’t expecting it, but experiencing the version of you in the heat of battle had him falling in love all over again. That commanding tone of voice and your proficiency with a weapon in hand, even after your years spent in retirement, were absolutely enrapturing to him.

♡ He wouldn’t have thought this of himself, but it seemed like watching you in your element made him realize that maybe he was attracted to that kind of power. You being his superior was only the icing on the cake.

“Delta Team, push up to the RV point!” You bark into the comms, the sound of grass and foliage cluttering your words. “Roger that, Finch. Move, move, move!” Simon honestly didn’t think he could fall in love with you even harder than he already has. Hearing you calling the shots over the comms was almost hypnotizing. He’d never heard your voice like that and it was a beautiful thing. He had to keep focus, though. He had his own team to direct.

Getting to the RV location was quite the hassle. Under a barrage of enemy fire—standard bullets, grenades, RPGs—keeping your team alive was a downright nightmare. But you managed it, the sight of Simon’s signature mask bringing you a slight bit of relief. “Ghost, sitrep, how long ‘til the charges blow?”

He doesn’t get the chance to respond before your eyes widen all of a sudden. “Look out!” You shout, shoving him to the side and toppling yourself down to the ground beside him. He grunts, looking at you confused before a sniper shot ricocheted off the ground right where he was previously standing.

“Snipers to the north, get down!” You call, taking Simon’s fallen rifle, getting into position to return fire, and quickly taking out the initial threat as though it was as easy as walking. If you weren't focused on calculating the best strategy out of this particular setback, you’d be able to see the stars in Simon’s eyes, his mind committing the sight of you expertly counter-sniping and potentially saving his life to memory. He didn't get much time to dwell on it any longer before he got dragged to his feet and rushed toward the nearest treeline.

♡ Once the operation was complete and you both got back to base with nothing but minor injuries, he finally had time to relax with you and reverse the roles, asking you an endless amount of questions about your time in active service, engrossed in the various stories you shared.

♡ Ghost listened carefully as you showed him the scars he had seen many times before and explained the story behind each one. He’d never asked before out of politeness but he got to appreciate them more fully now that he knew the details of each one.

A trail of goosebumps rises in the path of Simon’s fingers running along your spine. “I got that one a couple years into my service.” You recall, thinking about the scar he was tracing gently. His mind wanders as you talk, your voice soothing him through the imagery your story evoked.

“What about this one?” He rubbed his thumb over an old bullet wound on your side. You shift in your place on the tiny military-grade cot and sigh softly. “That was right before I retired. Sniper managed to hit between the plates.” His eyes widened at that, just a bit.

“And you managed to survive?” He chuckles softly when you nod. He leans down and pecks you on the cheek. “That’s my girl.” You blush, burying your face in the pillow beneath your head, making him laugh a bit again. He runs his hand through your hair, his fingers gentle. “So strong.” He squeezes the nape of your neck softly and feels the knots in your muscles, massaging them.

There was a peaceful silence between you two before Simon sighs. “What are you doing after all this?” You pick your head up just a bit, one brow raised. “What do you mean?” He pulls you close when you sit up to face him fully.

“Once this operation is over. Are you going to stay now that you’re back in?” He watches you process the question quietly. It was a good question. You didn’t really know what your plan was at this point. Leaving the service was a good choice on your part. You were happy just being a normal person, not constantly worrying about dying every time you left your bed.

But even so, being out on the field again was exhilarating. You didn’t imagine it would be a feeling you would miss, but now you were having second thoughts. Plus, it was wonderful being able to protect Simon yourself, knowing that as long as you were there, he was going to come back alive. You bite your lip in thought, before looking back up at him.

“I think I may stay. I’m not sure.” You run a hand up his shirt and over his back, your nails gently trailing against the scarred skin. He hums, his fingers starting to drum against your hip. “Don’t worry, Si. It’ll be okay. Promise. Plus, you need someone to make sure you don’t get yourself hurt.” You smile, kissing along his jaw and up his cheek. “I know, love, I know.” He smiles back, burying his face in your shoulder.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

166 notes · View notes

bubuslutty · 1 year

Text

Angel on Duty: the first meeting

All Parts

pairing: demon/angel fem!reader x 141

word count: 2.1k

tags: semi-canon compliant, reader is described as having a tail and horns but calls herself 'Angel', do what you will with her real nature but she's simply sent down to fulfil a wish, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Angel', 3rd person pov, minimal description of appearance, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warning: none

summary: the 141 boys have a fantasy to get captain price the fuck of his life, but also share it amongst themselves, a shared cumdump if you will. which basically translates into "we need a woman to break our miserable old man, and break us in the process and rebuild us again just to do it all over again." they're just miserable and pent up and horny and want to be taken care of, that's all :)

a/n: there's no smut in here cuz this is just the intro. bon appétit either way 💞 also let me know if u wanna be added to my cod taglist 😖

What do you know about prayer? About wishing? Blowing birthday candles and wishing upon a star?

Ever since the beginning of time, it is man's nature to wish, hope and pray. To whom? That has always changed and shifted throughout the centuries, with prayers sent to different deities, angels, ancestors and so on.

But what humans don’t know is that all of their prayers, all of their wishing, if it was strong enough, if they really want it, really bad, their wishes just might become reality. And that was all done through a meticulously built system in another realm, where what humans considered angels worked day and night to realise them.

“Hold on, you’re not about to give me this much work when I’m literally getting paid minimum wage.” A woman said, waving a folder around in the air with wide eyes.

“If you have an issue, you can take it up to HR.” A man said unimpressed, not even looking up from his computer.

“Haha, funny. Seriously, why the hell did I get one wish and what? 8 humans??” The woman said, slapping the folder on the desk, making the man hiss in annoyance.

“Why must you be so difficult? It’s one wish and 8 humans who have the same wish? What’s so hard to understand? Get down there and do your thing.” The man said, visibly irritated, trying to shoo her away with one hand.

“You sent this down to my office and did not expect me to have questions?? If all little boys' wishes about becoming the next Ronaldo could be realised, Sandra down the sixth fraction would have 82 thousand humans, alone, to go through!” The woman said, hands on her hips and standing with her knees to the desk’s edge, casting her shadow on the man sitting in front of her.

“Who’s Sandra?” The man asked.

“I don’t know.”

The man finally stopped staring at his computer screen and stood up, rounding up his desk and grabbing the folder in his hand, “Did you even read the reports?”

“No, just the first page.” The woman said, twirling a hair strand in her finger while the man stared at her with an unimpressed look.

“For fuck sake…Okay, see here?” He said, pointing at the wish, which was a paragraph long. The woman nodded and he kept going, “This group of humans share the same wish, or fantasy to be more realistic, and it’s all linked together through one man.” He explained, flipping to another page and tapping a finger on a man’s profile and picture.

“Oh, he’s beautiful.” She said with a gasp, eyes flashing with a red light that made the man gulp and quickly look away from her face.

“They all work together and have this complex dynamic of friends, but also family, but also this relationship,” He said, flipping through the other profiles, and letting her look at every picture.

“What does that mean?” The woman tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“Their whole thing is a tangled mess of different dynamics with each other, but it all comes down to the first man I showed you, he’s like the glue of their team, but he’s what keeps them whole and sane, individually.” He said and glanced back at her and noticed her confusion but also the amazement on her face.

“They are fascinating…”

The man placed the folder back in her hands and turned to get his desk phone, “They are, now I’m going to call Beck to confirm some last details and you should be down in the mortal realm by tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?!”

“They’re moving in tomorrow, and so are you.” He said and watched her leave his office with a shocked but excited expression nonetheless. He walk out of the door without having to touch it for it to wing open, the long black tail swinging back and forth, poking from under her short skirt and the horns that almost grazed the top of the doorframe.

The woman stood in front of a beautiful house in the middle of London, hugging a white cat with black ears and a black tail to her chest as a lorry parked in the street, next to her taxi. “I guess this is where I’ll be living for the next weeks… Not bad.” She said, petting the furball in her arms while the taxi driver removed her bags from the trunk.

“Thank you.” She thanked the man with a smile, and he smiled back, a blush high on his cheekbones and reluctantly left, glancing at her over his shoulder every two steps.

Then another man approached her, dressed in a blue shirt and hat, “The keys ma’am?”

“Oh yes, sorry.” She gasped, placing the cat on the ground and running to her bag, retrieving a set of keys and handing them out to the man with a small smile.

“Thank you.” He nodded and started walking to the house while other men dressed in the same uniform spilt out of a van, surrounded the lorry and started helping each other in carrying furniture inside the house while she stood to the side, watching.

Suddenly another car parked in the driveway of the house right next to hers, and she watched with curiosity as four men exited the car, looking tired but excited at the same time. They looked huge, carrying dark green and black bags on their shoulders and heading straight to the door, but without glancing at the woman.

She fought against a grin and held eye contact, her cat, Kuromi, purring against her leg. Then she moved before she could think.

The four men froze at their doorstep, still staring at her as she walked up to them. That day she was wearing a back suit with black heels and a black bralette instead of a button-up, the trousers hugging her hips so well along with her legs.

“Hey, I just wanted to introduce myself as your new neighbour. I’m Angela Ali, but you can call me Angel.” She introduced her fake name and gave herself a better nickname, internally snickering at the irony.

“Well, hello, we’re also new here.” Soap spoke when nobody said anything, he even smiled back at the beautiful woman.

Her eyes widened in surprise, both at his thick Glaswegian accent and the information he just gave her (which she already knew but she had to act the part), “Really? I had no idea! Maybe we can be friends and look out for each other in this neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’m Johnny MacTavish, by the way.” He finally introduced himself and stuck out his hand, and when she shook his hand, he felt tingles at the bottom of his spine, making him let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m John, John Price.” The second man said, sticking out his hand and keeping his eyes respectfully on her face and nowhere else. It was so stupid, he was tired, yes, but not that tired to be easily dumbfounded by a random beautiful woman. And John prided himself in his manners, so when his eyes landed on her body as she walked up to them, he couldn’t help but drink in every dip and swell like he was deprived.

That’s so embarrassing.

Angel smiled and shook his hand, shivering when his warm big rough hands engulfed her smaller one. He was the same man she called beautiful that day she received her wish file. And he was, not in the way humans usually described something as beautiful. But to her, despite his huge body, thick thighs and arms, deep voice and beard, his eyes held something in them that pulled her in. She could sense the man’s thoughts, emotions, wants and needs.

“Nice to meet you, John.” She smiled at the man and turned to greet the other two, who both introduced themselves as Simon Riley and Kyle Garrick.

Simon was wearing a simple black surgical mask, covering the lower half of his face. But she already knew what he looked like, she has his profile. She knows he has a scar that runs through his upper lip on the left side of his face.

His pale blue eyes were intense, looking at her, calculating, careful, as if she was a threat, someone to look out for.

Angel let him be, staring as much as he wanted.

Kyle on the other hand was all smiley, radiating warmth and friendliness. He was handsome and charming, and made Angel want to talk to him for two hours straight. Did I mention his smile? That man's smile is absolutely beautiful. You would never guess he's a soldier, a killer, a beast in the field.

“I’ll let you get settled, now. See you around!” She said and turned around, walking back to her house, noticing that her bags were moved and Kuromi was meowing by the door while men in uniforms were still working as fast as they could, unpacking everything and placing the furniture where it belonged. She reached the door and picked up the cat, gave her a kiss on her little head and looked over her shoulder and saw how the four men were still staring at her, and they all immediately stumbled inside their house, slamming the door shut behind them.

Angel giggled and finally stepped inside her new home, shaking her head.

Angel lay on her stomach, on her new queen-sized bed with a pizza box on her side and a laptop casting its bright light on her face. She took another bite of her pizza and read through the document on the screen, which was a digital version of her wish file, with extra documents going more into detail about each man she was to work on for the next weeks.

“Alright, what do we have here? Childhood trauma…Oh, oh, poor lad…” She frowned at the screen and read along the lines explaining some of the things Simon went through, she had read almost everyone’s files in detail, and it was already dark out, probably around 11PM. Angel checked the time and gasped when she realised it was actually 2AM.

She even had files about their careers, she just quickly skimmed through them just to see if there was anything serious to watch out for, but ignored everything else, just because she wanted to give a chance for the men to surprise her, it wasn’t very fun when she knew everything. Plus she was going to spend a couple of weeks on this job, so she might as well make it fun for herself.

Her horns and her tail were nowhere to be seen because it was a rule to hide one's true identity when in the mortal realm, or at least the form they like to wear in the wish realm. And hers was a pair of horns and a tail because she thinks it's funny to take on the form of a demon when humans think their prayers and wishes go to angels.

She was not an angel, nor a demon for that matter really, her whole existence revolves around realising human's wishes, and her form? She can take on anything she feels comfortable in. But when she's interacting with humans, she must take on a human form to hide her true nature.

Her phone suddenly rang and she flinched, looking down at the vibrating device. On the screen, a clock and a reminder to 'EAT FOOD' could be seen. She turned off the reminder and hummed, "Yeah, yeah, I'm eating.."

You see, Angel, still struggles to get into the habit of eating regularly when in human form. No matter how many jobs she's completed, she somehow still forgets to eat because you don't have to eat in her realm, you don't even need to sleep or go to the toilet. So setting herself a reminder on her phone is necessary if she doesn't want to suddenly drop.

"Oh, I forgot to read my own files." She gasped, sitting up straight and placing her laptop on her lap. After a few clicks, she opened her own files, highlighting her new identity and timetable.

"Okay, I'm an only child… Single, of course, duh, and my job is a sex therapist!" She said, brows raised and quickly reading next lines. "I only have to go to the office two days a week?... Nice. And I'm a PhD student… in psychology?.."

Angel groaned and fell on her back, her laptop still in her hands, it seems like she needs to start doing some research on human education.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): currently empty

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fiction-is-the-new-reality · 6 months

Text

behind the pub.

warnings: gn! but leaning towards fem! Reader. Not smut but very heavy with sexual tension and themes. MDNI. cussing and violence. (Simon might be a little OOC)

word count: 1.8k

The bar was loud.

Simon’s eyes locked on your form. Watching you as you snaked your way through the crowd in an attempt to get a drink. He saw the way you twisted the ring around your fingers and how your fingers grazed your necklace. The tiny ticks screamed that your nerves were amping up.

But it wasn’t the crowd that was making you nervous, but instead, it was Ghost himself.

You feel his intense gaze on you, tracing every inch of you. You couldn’t look back at him. If you met his eyes you’d combust. So you keep your eyes forward and ignore the hole he’s burning into you. Pushing your thighs together you try to ignore the heat of desire that’s making a wet spot between your legs.

A man throwing himself down in the seat beside you, and his friends crowding around the both of you disrupts your thoughts of Ghost.

You glance at them, then look back at the bartender, still waiting for your turn. You notice that the guy is still staring at you.

Great, here we go.

You take in his appearance. His black spiky hair, blue eyes, and somewhat of a muscular build.

You wondered what Ghost looked like under his mask. You wanted to know if his hair matched his brown eyes, what he looked like when he smiled, if he smiled.

The deafening loudness of the bar rushes back to your ears as you notice the guy is talking to you.

“Huh?”

His face shows displeasure at that.

“I’m Josh, by the way.”

“Cool.” He frowns at the lack of your name. His buddies giggle at this.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

“No thanks.” You give him a tight-lipped smile and turn away from him.

You hear him sigh.

“I’m trying to be nice-”

“I don’t need you to be nice, and I don’t want a drink. Take the no and walk away.” You give him the second tight-lipped smile of the night.

His face turns red as his boys laugh and rag on him. His body language shifts and you can see anger building up. He stands up from his chair to leave, but turns around. You meet his eyes.

“You should be fucking happy that I was trying to buy you a drink. Ugly bitch.”

“Go fuck yourself. How about that?”

The guys around you let out “ooohs” and a few whistles.

Josh is visibly livid at this point.

He’s been watching this entire time. He tuned out whatever stupid thing Soap was saying the second that knob-head sat down with you. His anger steadily rising. He’s been waiting for you to spare him a look, letting him know to come save you. How foolish of him to think that you would ask for help.

You’re no longer nervous. You’re pissed, your eyes on fire, he can see that even from across the room. He waits a minute longer, watching for any sign that would be a call for help, but it doesn't come. Not when the guy inches closer to you and not when you stand up, squaring your shoulders with a snarl on your face. But he can’t sit any longer, he’s watched enough.

He’s making quick time across the bar. Long, thick legs making a huge stride. He’s trying to reach you before you start a fight and the 141 is kicked out of yet another bar.

You don’t see Ghost. You’re too focused on Josh, who is now staring above you. His friends went quiet and they all had taken a step back.

“What’s goin’ on here?” You jump slightly at his presence. Your body quickly heats up from how close he is.

“We’re just talking.” Josh tries with a charismatic smile.

You scoff, “Just some guy who can’t take a no.”

Simon grunts in response. His intimidating glare locked on Josh. The dominance radiating from him causes both you and Josh to shiver.

“I didn’t realize she was taken, man. I’m leaving.” Josh tosses his hands up and walks away like a dog with his tail between his legs.

You throw back a shot before looking at Simon.

“Thanks for playing hero and saving me.” You smile at him.

He shakes his head. “I was just making sure you didn’ rip the bloke’s head off. I know betta than to try an play knight in shining armor.”

He lifts his balaclava and takes a sip of whatever’s in his hand. His sleeves tighten around his biceps and you almost begin drooling as his Adam’s apple bops as he swallows.

Simon feels your eyes on him. He enjoys the weight it carries. He looks you over and lets his gaze linger before clearing his throat and taking a sip again.

You’ve decided that you’re done for now. You’re sweating from the heat of the bar and the heat of Ghost’s attention.

“I think I’m going to step outside. It’s way too hot in here.”

Simon hums back in acknowledgment.

He heads out of the bar shortly after, deciding he needs a smoke. As he flicks on the lighter, he notices you leaning against the wall, head tilted back and eyes closed. Putting the cigarette back into the cartridge, he approaches without your notice.

He rests his shoulder on the brick, intensely watching you. You’ve got a pout across your lips and Simon doesn’t think he’s seen such an unjust sight before.

Your eyes open and you turn to face him, now mirroring his pose.

“Do you have anyone special, Lt?” Your eyes peer into his and the question takes Simon by surprise. This felt too vulnerable, too intimate for him, especially since you two were in an alley. He let out a huff of air before deflecting.

“Everyone’s gettin’ ready to head out.”

You stare up at him, your heartbeat getting erratic as you decide to push further.

“Anyone waiting for you back home?”

“Ain’t gotta home.” He stares you down, trying to understand the sudden interest in his personal life.

“Liar.” You squint your eyes at him. He squints right back.

Simon was the first one to crack. He allows himself to move closer to you. On instinct, you push yourself further into the wall. Your mind runs wild with ideas, how his hands would feel all over you and how firm he would be under yours.

“Close your eyes.” Your eyes widened at his command before snapping shut. You hear a slight rustling sound and realize that he’s removing his balaclava.

Simon can’t take not feeling your touch anymore. He’s been craving it for months. It’s burned through his insides, it clouds his thoughts, and you’ve even wormed your way into his dreams. Those are his favorite dreams. They make him wake up breathless. His hand is already wrapped around himself and his hips thrust up without caring about anything else. He can’t take not feeling your hands on him anymore.

The cool air against his face reminds him of how vulnerable this all is. He falters. His mind begins to convince him to back away and ruin any chance he has with you. He’s so close to running until he sees the rise of your chest as you take a staggered breath, waiting for him. He realizes you’re just as touch starved as him. Your obedience to him and the way he’s been affecting you all night without even touching you, gives him all the confidence he needs to continue.

Leaning down, he barely touches your lips. Letting you barely feel the warmth of his lips, but not enough to count as a kiss. You feel arms on either side of your head as Ghost cages you in. You lean your head back, hoping he would be nice enough and kiss you. He takes mercy on you and finally kisses you.

You let him set the pace, which Simon was thankful for.

His lips felt euphoric on yours. They were slightly chapped, but it didn’t bother you any. The smell of gunpowder and something woodsy, clouded your senses . The aroma alone was intoxicating, but added with his gentle kissing made you weak in the knees.

Simon placed one hand at the spot where your jaw and neck met and traced it for a few seconds before letting it drift to the back of your head. He pulled softly, wanting to deepen the kiss. The small moan that left your mouth had him close to spilling in his jeans.

He wanted to take you right here behind the pub where anyone could lay witness to it. He wouldn’t, you deserved better than that, even though a small part of him knew you’d let him.

You needed to taste him, you wanted to feel his tongue on yours, but you knew not to try and push him. You waited for him to give it to you.

Ghost as if hearing your thoughts, licked at your lips. Your lips parted eagerly, letting his tongue dip into your mouth. He tastes like the bourbon he had been sipping on. Your tongues lap at each other and you’re quickly getting overwhelmed. You need air but you’re almost certain that his mouth is what is allowing you to stay alive.

Simon loved that you were letting him take his time and let him do whatever he wanted. You were doing so good at being patient with him.

It made his head spin. All of it. The feeling of your body pressed against his. Your warm wet mouth against his, your hands clinging to his arms, and the little noises that you were making.

Simon finally pays attention to the way his lungs are screaming for air, and he knows that you must be needing air as well. With reluctance he pulls away to allow both of you to get some air.

You chase his lips with a gasp of his call sign. Your voice sounds just as wrecked as you look. Your lips are red and swollen, your hair is slightly frizzy from his hands, and your chest heaving from the lack of oxygen.

He can only assume he looks just as wrecked, if not worse.

Simon commits the image to memory before correcting you.

“You can call me Simon.” He places his balaclava back on his head and immediately misses feeling your lips on his.

You slowly open your eyes. You smile up at him, still reeling from the makeout session.

“Simon.” You say softly, like you’re testing if you like it or not.

You go to say something but freeze as the door of the pub is slung open. Johnny's voice echoes through the entire alley.

“Lads I’ve been looking for ya everywhere! Quit your snoggin, we’re leaving!”

The door slams closed and you can’t help but giggle. Simon softly chuckles with you.

“Simon?” You whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again?”

Your eyes shine at him as he places his hand on your waist and pulls you into his chest. He leans down and nips at your neck before coming back and slotting his lips onto yours.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost cod #cod fanfic #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfic #ghost x you #ghost x fem!reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

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salstray · 1 year

Text

An Arrangement ((Ghost x Reader))

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Warnings: 18+ Content, NSFW, Smut, p in v, AFAB reader, established situationship, very little plot, also my first time writing x reader smut so let me know if its ass k thanks

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Summary: Ghost and Reader are co workers, of sorts. You work under Laswell, helping with intel and information while the boys are in the field. During the months you work with Ghost, you and him figure out an... arrangment that helps you both relax a little in the midst of all the chaos of war. When the job comes to an end, you give Ghost a letter and a choice. End it here or extend the stress relief beyond work. You get your answer when he shows up at your door in the middle of the night.

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Note: As I said before, first time writing x reader smut.... or really any smut at all! Usually I get to blushy and ashamed when I get to this point in a work, but this one wormed its way out into the pages anyway! Tell me if it sucks, K? Rad. Thank you!

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The letter is so professional, so clinical, it almost makes him laugh.

Your slanted handwriting against perfectly lined paper, calling this whole thing an 'arrangement' between the two of you. Like it was a trade deal or a transaction and not like he'd been fucking you stupid every time he got you alone. It was all for secrecy, he understood that, but it was still funny.

At the bottom of it all, the clipped and emotionless words and flowing business speak, was your address and your phone number.

In case you'd be interested in a continuation, it said. Ending in your name. Just the first one. The only hint anyone would have that this was anything other than work, should any unwanted eyes find their way onto this page. They wouldn't, Ghost was far too careful to let that happen, but still. The only slip you’d made.

It takes a surprising amount of courage to end up at your door. More, he feels, then it takes to stare down the barrel of a gun.

The apartment building is smaller than what he would have expected from someone with your salary, but he wasn't one to judge. His own flat was barely more than a shoebox. Just enough space to keep the walls from closing in when he stared at them too hard and enough to hold what few possessions he had to his name.

He's not sure if you'll be awake when he finally knocks. One glance at his phone tells him that much. Ghost had decided not to text you before he showed up, either. Somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. A trapdoor in his walls that he wasn't willing to address just yet. Or open.

When you appear through the doorway, he nearly collapses on the spot.

Your in a fucking skirt.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a shock but in all the months you'd worked together you'd always dressed practically, more or less. The leggings you favored would probably be considered less, but it was always trousers of some sort. Dress pants, a button down shirt, hair pulled back. Ready at a moment's notice, as you needed to be to survive in this life. A perfect mirror of Laswell. The person you worked under and the reason you two had met in the first place.

But here? Now? In your own home with the only danger being bad TV and loud neighbors you looked so much different.

You favored black in your style, something that drew Ghost in, something Johnny would relentlessly tease him about, and it showed even outside of work. The skirt was that color. Solid black, flowing gently around your thighs, topped with a simple forest green tank top with thin straps and no bra. Your hair was loose and your glasses were nowhere to be seen, leaving your eyes wide and shining.

The way you gasped snapped his gaze from your body, your thighs and your hips, up to your face.

"Simon?" You ask softly, like you weren't sure it was really him. Like you expected anyone else to show up in the dead of night with a skull print balaclava covering their face.

"Evenin', love."

You curl in on yourself. Bashful. Shy. Looking up at him through fluttering lashes, hands tucked up by your breasts. The way you always looked when he approached you with sinful intentions.

Heat pooled low in Ghost’s stomach as he leaned forward, his hands tucked away in his pockets, his eyes dark and heavy.

"Gonna invite me in?" He breathes, knowing damn well what his voice does to you when he speaks like that. The reaction in you was instant. The rapid blinks, the shaking breath. The little nod as you took a few steps back, opening the door wider to let his massive form through the frame. He steps inside slowly. Letting his eyes roam the walls and furniture. Cataloging every little knickknack and art piece and surface he'll be able to bend you over once he finally puts his hands on you.

Your voice draws his gaze back to you.

"I… I didn't think you'd show up," you say, trying to sound casual. Trying to sound like this was planned and not simply offered a few weeks ago with no reply given.

He doesn't give you one now, either. Instead he takes a step closer to you. Closing the distance in one swift motion, causing you to press your spine into the half wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. You're blinking again, trying to gather your thoughts as his hands settle on your waist, palms warm and fingers strong. Ghost’s digits press into your flesh as he hums and leans back, clearly enraptured by the outfit you chose for your quiet night in.

"Look good in this," he mutters. His right hand shifts, sliding lower over your thigh, just enough to slip under the skirt and start a slow, teasing trail back up to your leg.

"Y-you think?" You ask, biting your bottom lip when his hooded eyes meet yours.

"Yeah." His fingers slip up and behind you, pulling you forward, chest flush against his with his hand now cupping your ass. "I do. Think you should wear it more often."

He feels the shiver that rolls up your spine as he speaks. Smirks when your hands reach up to grab at his jacket. Pulls the hand still on your waist away just long enough to push back his hood and tug up the end of his mask. He settles it on your shoulder instead of your hip, however, and slides it up along your neck and into your hair, taking a fistfull and using it to tug your head back.

Your breathless gasp makes him rumble low in his chest. Something between a growl, a hum, and a grunt. Ghost leans forward, his tongue slipping through his lips and marking a wet trail up your pulse.

The little whine you let out makes him shudder and he sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth as his mouth reaches your jaw.

He'd never tell you, never admit it, but he missed this. Missed you. Your reactions, your sounds, the taste and feel of your skin. He'd been in this apartment for less than five minutes and already felt like he was gonna split apart at the seams if he didn't have his cock buried in you in the next two.

The next breath he takes is punctuated by a groan and he uses the hand on your ass to lift you off your feet. He lets the other take hold of your thigh to keep you steady as you make a noise of surprise and wrap your legs around his hips.

"Bed. Where?" Is all he says, his lips parted and panting against your cheek as he speaks.

Moments later your back is hitting the mattress. Ghost is already reaching under the skirt by the time you push yourself up onto your elbows, yanking away your panties and tossing them somewhere into the room. He crawls over you, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting them into the air so your skirt flops up against your stomach, revealing your newly naked sex to him.

He groans again, low and slow, head tilting as his right hand slips away from your leg and down towards the slick heat that had been torturing you for hours.

"So wet already?" He teases. Ghost chuckles when his touch makes you jerk, his fingers just barely grazing your clit and making you whimper.

"I…," your gaze slips away from him, your flushed cheeks only getting hotter as you confess, "I've been… thinking about you… all day." A startled cry leaves you when he plunges two fingers in without warning. There was no resistance at all. Just a loud, wet noise as he slowly drags them back out and presses in again.

"Aww… thinkin' bout me? How sweet," he purrs, leaning in close to watch your face twist with pleasure. "To think that's all it takes to get you so worked up." Your eyes, which had twisted shut at the pleasurable stretch of his fingers, peel open just a bit to look at him. Plead with him. Beg him silently for more.

Luckily he's always been able to read you like a book. That's what led to this arraignment in the first place.

"Want more, love?" You whimper, nodding weakly. "Want my cock?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes what, sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir."

You didn't take orders from him. He wasn't your superior in the field and, in all honesty, he was totally fine with that. There was no way he'd be able to keep focus with that sweet voice calling out to him. All it would take was one little 'sir' over the comms and he'd be done for. That's why he made you use it here. Where only he could hear it.

Both of his hands leave your body and you'd have protested if you didn't push yourself up farther to watch him work at his belt. In one fluid motion it joins your panties across the room and you sink your teeth into your lip to hide the moan that draws out of you. The sight of his dick, fully hard and already leaking, pulls another free. One you don't hide from him.

Ghost crawls over you again, tucking his thumbs into the straps of your tank top and pulling them down your shoulders. He tugs just far enough for your breasts to be freed. Another shiver rolls through you when he licks his lips.

"Simon," you whimper, reaching up to dig your fingers into his biceps. "Please." His newly shining mouth twitches into a smirk and he tilts his head for a moment, brows raising with the motion.

"Since you asked so nicely."

You'd hate how cocky he acted if he wasn't so fucking attractive and if his actual cock wasn't pushing into you.

Your eyes flutter shut again as you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as the solid heat of him fills you. Ghost takes the opportunity to slide his arms under you and pull you close, his face hidden in your shoulder, his breathing short and shallow as you stretch around him. It takes a few careful thrusts to get him all the way inside. Slow drags a few inches back, then a steady roll of his hips until his pelvis is pressed against yours.

"Ffffffuck, sweetheart… fuckin' hell-"

He only gives you a few short seconds before he's thrusting. Filling the room with the harsh slap of his skin on yours, the wet squish of your slick, and the echoing moans you can no longer contain.

"Si-Simon! Fu-ahhh! Fuck!"

He's not quiet either, to your surprise. In the past, you'd both been at risk of being caught. On base, hidden between paper thin walls, surrounded by other soldiers. Ghost's self control was honestly impressive, but he had to silence you in anyway he could. Either with his mouth on yours, his fingers down your throat, or just his palm slapped over your lips.

Yet here, in your own home, he's just as bad as you. Moaning freely, cursing and whining along with you, groaning deeply as he sucks at the soft skin of your throat. His teeth sink into your flesh and you clench around him, making him pull away with a gasp.

"Ffuuu… fuck… like that, do you?" He leans forward again, lower than before, leaving a harsh red mark over your collarbone.

One of his arms wiggles free from under you and his fingers appear at your clit, making you nearly sob at the sudden friction. Before you know it your panting and moaning, nearly falling to pieces as heat coils in your abdomen, threatening to toss you over the cliff and straight into oblivion.

You grunt, gasp, curl your legs up around Ghost's waist, then throw your head back with a hoarse cry, eyes shut tight as you cum.

Ghost only stops for a handful of seconds. Long enough to lean himself back on his knees with a grunt, his hands taking hold of your hips. Then, before you've even come back down to earth, he's fucking you again. Deep, hard strokes that have your already muddy thoughts washing away in bliss.

Your orgasm drags on and on as he chases his own high, leaving you a weak, whimpering mess as he manhandles you back into his thrusts. Not much later, he's curling over you again, his eyes clenched shut and lips parted. He rolls his his again, two, three more times. Then his shoulders shake and he moans lowly, his face suddenly slack with relief. You finally fall limp a few trembling seconds later. Utterly boneless beneath him.

The pair of you stay there for a while.

Ghost lets himself lean into you, laying mostly on his side, still buried to the hilt in the mess you both made. One of his arms found its way under you again, holding you close to his chest as he breathes slowly and evenly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was asleep. But you did know better and you grunted softly as you tried to shift your legs.

"Alright, love?" He calls softly, his head raising just enough to look at you through the darkness. He hadn't turned the light on when he'd carried you in here. It would have wasted time.

"Y-yeah… feel like jelly…" you say, still sounding and feeling breathless. You swallow, throat dry, and twist in his grasp, making him groan quietly as his soft cock finally slips free of you.

He twists as well, moving you until you're curling against his chest, sweaty and sticky and satisfied.

"Gonna be able to make it to round two?" He asks teasingly.

You groan. "There's gonna be more?" It's playful. You know perfectly well how much it takes to satiate him. Ghost chuckles and you can't fight back the grin that bunches your cheeks in response.

"I just got here, sweetheart. Maybe if you hadn't worn a skirt…"

"Maybe if you'd given me a warning I could have changed." You wouldn't have, both of you know that. "My number was on that page too, Riley. Use it next time."

You couldn't see the way his jaw clenched when you said that. The way his eyes shifted through the shadows, wondering… thinking… considering the consequences.

Luckily, your hand trailing down his chest, over his jacket, pushes thoughts ever present fears away.

"You should take this off."

"You just wanna see my tits." He speaks before he thinks and it makes you laugh. A full, bright laugh that he's never heard from you before. Not that there's much place for laughter when he's got a gun in his hands and you've got lives on the line.

It makes him smile. Just a little. Not where you can see. The sultry smirks and teasing grins were easy, this kind of smile was different. Softer. It's gone as you tilt your head back to beam at him, not a single worry behind your eyes.

"Well, you saw mine. It's only fair."

#Simon Ghost Riley #Ghost MW2 #Ghost MW #Ghost x Reader #Simon Ghost Riley x Reader #Modern Warfare 2 #Call of Duty #CoD #Cod MW 2 #god tags are exhausting aren't they-#Smut #Ghost x Fem!Reader #okay throwing it into the void and running K BYE

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yawnderu · 2 months

Text

>Simon has a neet weirdo as a best friend Or Simon Riley lets his best friend see his naked body for art references.

This wasn't the way Simon was expecting to spend his PTO; naked in his best friend's bed with his hand covering his soft cock, hoping not to make you uncomfortable as you took notes of his body's reactions.

“Can you like... get hard?” He was trying his best not to get hard, going as far as to think about gross things he's seen throughout the years to distract himself from the feeling of your nails raking up and down his bare stomach, defined muscles tensing and bulging beneath your palm.

“'S not how it works.” He grumbled out, tired brown eyes looking away from you. Simon isn't embarrassed— not at all, he's simply not used to someone inspecting him the way you are, curious eyes fully focused on his body, taking in every single tattoo and scar, living proof of how many times he's kicked death's ass.

“Well, just think about... I don't know, tits.” He lets out a dry chuckle at the awkwardness in your tone, trying your best to keep it professional in the name of art. He looks down at you with pure amusement the moment he sees your hand drifting up, tracing the outline of his defined, muscular pecs.

You take a second to fully admire the view in front of you, absent-mindedly starting to play with his erect nipple, not registering the way his breath hitches. Simon looks like a gladiator— lightly tanned skin making his rippling muscles stand out greatly, becoming the virtual image of ancient Greek fantasies, a plethora of scars showing how often he crosses the edge of death.

“Gettin' a bit touchy there.” His playful tone doesn't save the mild embarrassment, about to let go of his nipple before his rough, calloused hand grasps your wrist, encouraging you to keep touching him.

“'S working.” Simon's other hand moves out of the way slightly, just barely enough for you to see his hardening cock, veins starting to become more prominent along his long, meaty shaft. He doesn't protest when you move his hand out of the way, getting a perfect look at him.

“That's... oddly interesting.” The awkwardness coming from you never fails to amuse him, only making his ego inflate by the second, even when you look down at your notebook to keep taking notes of his body's reactions.

“Does it feel weird to get a boner?” He thinks about it for a few seconds before shaking his head, holding back a laugh at the blunt questions. In the name of art, she says.

“Not weird, just... I don't know, bird.” The expectant look that you give him distracts him for a second, trying to think of a better way to explain it.

“Feels good. Bit tingly most of the time, and you can feel it... y'know, grow.” Explaining what getting a boner feels like isn't the weirdest thing he's done for you, half-lidded brown eyes focused on the way you simply nod and keep taking notes, using his words as inspiration for the erotic novels he knows you write.

The room is almost quiet for a few minutes, Simon's breathing becoming harder being the only sound, feeling your soft hands caressing every single inch of his skin, feeling him up more than he can take... and ultimately edging him without even being aware, stopping to take notes every once in a while.

“I can show you how a man jacks off, too. For the sake of art, yeah?”

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mockerycrow · 6 months

Note

HELLO the biggest congrats on 4k, you absolutely deserve that and so many more!!!

Could I see a female!reader x Ghost with the prompt:“I had a nightmare . . . can I stay with you tonight?”

TY and yet again, congratulations 🤍🤍🤍

REASSURANCE (Ghost x Fem!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note; thank you so much anon <3 i hope you enjoy!

[WARNINGS; not proofread (like most of my fics), silent panic attack + light dissociation, implied you’ve never seen his face, hurt/comfort.]

You know Ghost has nightmares—everyone knows Ghost has nightmares. No one really wants to talk about it because he doesn’t, but everyone has seen the man up at ungodly hours of the night, or perhaps beating the absolute shit out of a punching bag at the on-base gym.

No one except for Price knows what Ghost’s been through, but no one really questions him. It’s unrealistic to think Ghost is the only one waking up due to their dreams—even Price does on the occasion. What Ghost doesn’t do is ask for help.

You had a weird gut feeling about tonight; you weren’t really restless, but you weren’t tired. Every time you laid down to try to get some sleep, your eyelids would slowly open back up. You tried multiple methods; white noise, thinking about nothing, thinking about a story, taking a sleep remedy—nothing.

You had a weird tightness in your stomach that you couldn’t shake. It’s no big deal, you’ve had several nights like this. Nights where you stay up, half expecting something to happen. You aren’t sure if its the military-esque anxiety flaring up, expecting an attack of some sort or if it’s just one of those nights.

You’re laying in bed, trying to think of what you have to do tomorrow. Might as well try to think of something useful, right? Let’s see, you have to do morning training and then you have to eat, brief with price, it’s your turn to help the armourer—the weapons master, you like to say to piss them off—and you also have to do paperwork.

A very tame evening, you think, avoiding the Q word everyone oh so desperately hates; including yourself. Because the second you say it, you’re going to be called by Laswell, or General Shepherd, or some other CIA federal agent bureaucrat about some fucking thing that’s happening in the god forsaken world that only, and only task force 141 can handle—

—Someone knocks on your door, breaking your disorganized thoughts. Your eyebrows furrow; no one should be up, maybe Price is, or Ghost. Did you forget some paperwork? You sit up, slip your slides on your feet, and you walk to the door. You unlock the door and open it, wincing from the bright light of the hallway pouring in, and you’re met with the large figure of Ghost.

You blink, unsurprised. “Hey.” You utter. “Did I wake you?” God, Ghost sounds rough. It sounds like he garbled glass—er, maybe that isn’t the nicest way to describe one of your superiors voices right now. It’s clear he just woke up. You shake your head in response, stepping aside. “Here, come in. It’s bright.”

Ghost silently obeys, stepping inside of your room. You close the door and head over to your desk. You feel around in the darkness until you feel your lamp and you click a button, turning it on, illuminating the room just enough for you to see Ghost. He’s wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants with one of his black, long-sleeve compression tops to go with it.

He’s wearing a basic black balaclava without the iconic skull, but.. His eyes are different. Distant and weary, cautious—panicked almost. Your eyebrows furrow together as his broad shoulders are tense, fists clenched.

“Ghost..” You call softly. He seems far away—he needs your help. “Ghost.” You say more insistently and louder, noticing the way his chest is barely moving. “Ghost, hey, can y’hear me? You need to take a breath..” You murmur, slowly approaching him.

He’s frozen but you see how his eyes flicker towards you, taking a moment realize where he is. You offer a soft smile you always show him and you nod. “There you are, big guy. Can I touch you?” You make sure to ask because you never know; a soldier during a flashback, touching them? That can be fatal—you trust Ghost as you don’t think he would ever hurt you, but you never know a person.

It takes him a moment to nod, which makes you promptly and gently grab his wrists. You gently guide him to your bed, and you sit him down. You’re nervous—you’re about to calm him down in one of the only ways you know how to, but you’re worried about the consequences you’ll receive afterwards. Oh well, you don’t care, not when Ghost’s eyes are as unfocused as they are.

The bed dips under his weight and you gently spread his legs, standing between them. You grab his arms; they’re deadweight, but his eyes flicker some recognition, allowing you to guide his arms around your waist. You guide his head to lay against your stomach, your hands cradling his masked jaw and the back of his neck.

Ghost takes in a harsh, shuddery breath which makes you hum in approval. “There you go, Ghost. Breathe, you’re alright.” You say in a mellow manner, your thumb brushing over his masked cheek. Ghost takes in another harsh breath as his arms tighten around you. You continue to try to ground him, talking and praising him for his efforts to stay calm. You know he isn’t in the right mind, but you’re still shocked he’s allowed you to touch him for as long as you have.

Something in your gut unravels as Ghost pulls his head away ever so slightly, ripping his mask off and throws it away like it was constricting his breathing. He buries the side of his face back into your stomach, taking you by surprise. Your met with his blonde hair in the low light, your heart stuttering.

You hesitate only for a moment before you bury a hand in his hair on the back of his head, your other hand returning to his jaw, your heart hammering as you note he has stubble as well as something on his skin, like deep scar tissue.

Ghost lets out a noise which you quickly hum in response. “It’s okay, let it out.. Won’t tell anyone about this, okay?” You assure him, causing another noise to escape him, almost like a laugh. “Kinda hard t’do that when a pretty girl is comfortin’ you.” He croaks, his voice broken—both his voice and sentence making your brain short circuit. You laugh in return, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Shush,” You murmur. “Just relax.”

Ghost nods against your stomach, shakily exhaling. You stay like that for a while; neither of you are sure for how long, and neither of you care. You’re enjoying the rare vulnerability Ghost is displaying, and he’s enjoying the grounding touch you’re currently providing him. The silence is comforting as you comb your fingers through his hair, and you enjoy the weight of his head and his arms.

“I had a nightmare…” Ghost utters. You hold your breath as he looks up at you, and oh god, he’s hot. “..Can I stay with you tonight?” You’re mesmerized by the way his nose is curved—clearly has been broken a couple of times and wasn’t reset right—by the way his eyebrows are furrowed, his big, beautiful brown eyes.. You nearly forget to respond. “Yes,” You push out, resisting the urge to reach up and rub the tension between his brows. “Always.”

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lilywastaken · 1 year

Text

⇝ shadow .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: All Simon wants is to explain his disappearance to you, but he can't really expect you to be willing to listen.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Mentions of NSFW, Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications, Soft!Dad!Simon.

A/N: Second chapter!! Almost exactly a week after the first one LMAO. No smut in this one, I'm afraid, but some very fluffy moments between Simon and Tommy! <333 Once again, please reblog and comment if you enjoy this, it helps a lot!!!

WORD COUNT: 10k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.

The grip you had on the door could rival that of a professional arm wrestler, your whole body stiff and frozen in place as your gaze locked onto Simon's.

Was it even Simon? His eyes didn't hold the same warmth it had the last time you'd seen him, his body wasn't as relaxed as it had felt beneath your touch, his whole frame covered in dark clothing that left his eyes as the only source of light that shone through that shadow of a man.

Well, you couldn't even consider them that, his blue orbs lacked that speck of light you'd grown accustomed to seeing in your son's; it left him looking like a ghost, a shell of a man. But maybe that was appropriate, he never did look like the kind of bloke you'd expect to be kind or sweet, he suited more the idea of a cold, ruthless man that had abandoned you and your son.

Even after having spent a night in his arms, felt the touch of his lips on your skin, memorised the feeling of his cock inside of you; he was still a stranger to you, a man you had idolised so much during the first days after your encounter that he had begun to form into someone completely different in your mind.

And now that he was in front of you, you knew. This wasn't the Simon from your dreams that held you in his arms, the Simon from your dreams that pressed kisses to your swollen belly whenever the baby would kick, the Simon from your dreams that hadn't left.

It was like a slap in the face.

One that brought you back to reality, that flushed away any daydream or idealised version you had of him from your mind, and forced you to focus on the man standing in front of you.

"You-"

"Did you keep it?"

As if you'd been sucker punched right in the gut, you felt the air leave your lungs, the words you had intended to speak sitting on the tip of your tongue like the bitter taste of black tea.

"It? Wh-"

"Him. Our son."

Our son.

It was funny, how he'd managed to say the two simple words that immediately made your blood boil in rage, tears forming at the corner of your eyes out of frustration as.

"Oh, so he's our son now?" You willed yourself to keep calm, but you couldn't help how your voice wavered when you spoke, this whole situation baring to be too much to handle along with your already declining mental state. "You didn't seem very interested before."

"I was gone."

"Oh, trust me, I know." You snarled, your harsh tone causing him to look away from you, whether it was in shock or fear, you didn't care. At least you couldn't feel small beneath his stare if he wasn't looking. "How long has it fucking been, Simon? A year. 9 months carrying your child and 3 months raising him. You have no fucking right to come knocking now and asking to see him."

"You don't understa-"

"I don't need to fucking understand, Simon!" You cried out, your voice ringing down the hall and in Ghost's ears, "I was alone! I am alone! I went through a terrifying pregnancy on my own because you couldn't bother to pick up the goddamn phone! Where were you when I needed you!? Where were you when the doctor told me that the birth might leave irreparable damage on my body!? Where were you when I almost lost him!?"

Silence filled the building, dull ringing in Ghost's ears from how loud you'd shouted, his gaze shifting up from the floor to you, his heart skipping a beat at your dishevelled state, your flushed face and tear stained cheeks, the hand that had been resting on the door now clenching your shirt right above your heart, as if the simple act of talking to him pained you to no end.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, Simon. Sorry doesn't make up for this past year, for all the fucking pain I went through while you were, what, ignoring me the whole time!? Waiting until an 'acceptable' time to show up and fucking demand to see him!?"

"I'm not demanding." You flinched as one of his hands came to slam onto the top of the door that separated the both of you, his hand clenching around the wood hard enough to break it, and you knew that if he wanted to, he could. "I'm asking. I'm asking to see him, for you to let me explain why I was gone."

Your lower lip quivered at the way he spoke, so calm and composed compared to you, who'd let your emotions take control of your words and had just

"I don't know what you went through. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand. And.. I'm, I'm sorry, that you were forced to go through it alone," The apology that slipped through his lips sounded almost forced, like it was his first time hearing and speaking the words out of his mouth. "I'm not here just to see him. I'm here because you deserve an explanation on why I wasn't here. And I know it won't take away the pain, but I ho-"

The door slammed shut.

Ghost was left outside of your apartment, hand still testing on the flimsy wood of your door, staring at the point where your eyes had been mere seconds ago.

You'd closed the door on him.

You'd ripped any chances he'd had of seeing his son and explaining himself to you in half.

He'd gone through his speech for hours in the car, making sure that he wouldn't come off as rude or mean to you, that everything was explained slowly and coherently, but you'd just… Closed the door on him.

It was a funny sight, really. A giant of a man standing in the corridor of a beat down building in the middle of Manchester, outwardly looking like a kicked puppy if it weren't for the fire that was burning inside of him, bubbling beneath his skin as he got the urge to rip the whole fucking door off just so would fucking listen to-

The door opened again, properly, this time. No little gap where he could barely see your full body, where you were able to hide from him in fear that he'd do something disastrous like he'd just been thinking of.

You were letting him in.

That much was obvious, by the way your shaking frame was glued to the wall of the small corridor, allowing him space to cross through into the apartment he'd spent the night in a year ago.

No words had to be spoken, the reluctant look on your face telling him more than enough.

The few steps he took to enter your apartment felt like crossing a border to another world, one that he couldn't recognise as much as he tried to think back to the last time he'd been there.

Everything had changed. The wallpaper with the flowers that reminded him of his grandma's old home had been striped, replaced with a more cool paint over; the dingy sofa where he'd ripped your tights open was replaced with a much more softer and plush looking model, one that could no doubt be pulled into a bed; the bookshelf he'd gotten the sticky notes from had been ridden of many of the books that had littered it, replaced with children's books and a few pictures, baby toys strewn across the floor in front of it.

It felt like a whole different place than what he remembered. He didn't know what he had expected, for you to have a child and for nothing to change? He was aware of the chaos that a child brought, remembering how annoyed he himself had been as everything started to change around him when his brother had been born, the need it brought to rearrange the whole house to accommodate the baby and not have any dangerous items lying around.

Ghost made a mental note to himself as he picked up one of the picture frames from next to the small telly to clean up his own house before bringing his son there (if he was even allowed to), recalling the dust and grime that covered the corners of his rooms, the glass shards from the last time he'd drunk and passed out on the sofa littering his floors.

You pushed the door closed behind you both, shaky hands pressing onto the cool wood in an attempt to ground yourself, trying not to focus on the silent yet imposing footsteps of your son's father.

You don't know what possessed you to open the door, to let him into your space, that he'd now taken over like a shadow. He looked so… out of place.

A demon along the angels, a ghost along the living.

His dark clothes contrasted heavily with the bright colours of your son's toys that laid strewn across the floor, with the soft colours your walls were painted in, with the colourful blankets that you'd tried spicing up the sofa with, despite no one being able to appreciate them other than you.

It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right to have him here, walking around your home like he belonged there, like he'd been there all along. It was wrong.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, like your throat was closing off and preventing any air from reaching your lungs properly. Your nails dug into your own palms as you clenched your hands closed, trying your best to even out your breathing and focus on anything but the impending conversation you'd have to have with him.

You could hear him say something, but your brain was so caught up with trying to stop yourself from spiralling that it didn't even comprehend what he was saying. The balaclava over his face was moving, indicating that he was speaking, but not a single sound was reaching your ears.

Your body was trembling at this point, mouth gasping for air as your throat continued to constrict, your eyes going blurry with tears as you watched him come closer to you, mouth still moving.

"Breathe." Two hard hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor bordering on what you could easily identify as a panic attack, ones that you'd been prone to ever since you gave birth. "Look at me. Breathe."

Simon immediately knew what was happening without even having to look at you.

The laboured breaths that were leaving you were enough to activate the alarms in his head, recognising them immediately. He'd heard them many times before coming from him, his teammates, the people whose heads were pressed against his gun. You were spiralling, falling into the harming grasp of your anxiety and letting it infect your body.

When he got a panic attack, Simon rode through it. The therapist that Price had assigned him a few years ago had advised him to consider doing breathing exercises whenever he showed signs of having one, but during the year he'd seen her and the years to come, not once had he considered doing them. Sometimes, he felt like he deserved to feel like that, like he was suffocating, like his heart was about to be ripped out; for all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on others, he deserved to feel at least a sliver of it.

But the thought of letting you experience that same pain, the same panic, the same hopelessness he felt whenever he'd cave into his depression, it wasn't a good one.

So despite his initial lack of remembrance of the exercises his therapist had offered, he tried his best to talk you through it, hands grasping at your shoulders and squeezing every time he saw you start to slip away back into that pit of anxiety, keeping his eyes on yours through the whole thing, not letting you go until you'd stopped shaking and your breath had become even once again.

You'd been so focused on the anxiety coursing through your veins that you hadn't even realised who was helping you through it, blindlessly following orders and breathing along with him, your brain subconsciously recognising his voice as something to cling onto, to pull you out of your own plunging thoughts.

But as soon as you realised whose eyes you were gazing into, whose hands were holding you down, you panicked again. Your own hands came up to push him away, the action catching him off guard and making him take a few small steps back from you, eyes still fixed on yours.

"Are y-"

"Shut up." You breathed out, interrupting him for what seemed like the 100th time that night, mimicking him and taking a few steps away from him and wrapping your arms over your upper body. "Sit."

Ghost finally tore his stare away from you to look down at the sofa, hesitantly taking the first steps forward like a cat meeting its owner for the first time before finally taking a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush pillows thanks to his weight and looking around from the new perspective.

"Do you normally have panic attacks?" He spoke up, thankful that you didn't interrupt him this time, voicing his concern.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your fuzzy socks as you thought back to all the times you'd had to go through them on your own sitting at the doctor's office, lying in bed after putting Tommy to sleep, looking at yourself in the mirror after your labour…

Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.

"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."

He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.

The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.

"...so? Are you going to explain?"

Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.

But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.

He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.

"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"

"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."

His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?

"What do you work in?"

"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."

Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.

Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.

And it was terrifying.

You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.

You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.

"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.

"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."

You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.

"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.

"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.

"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"

You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.

"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.

"That doesn't explain why you were gone."

Silence.

The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.

"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.

"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."

"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.

"I'm not raising my vo-"

A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.

You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.

"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."

Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."

His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.

Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.

"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.

"I want to see him."

You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.

"You haven't even told me his name."

Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.

"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.

He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.

"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.

"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.

"You still don't believe me, d'you?"

A beat.

The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.

You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.

"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.

Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.

And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.

And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.

"They're real. I promise."

His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.

"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.

A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.

Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.

God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.

His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.

"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."

And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.

And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.

"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.

Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.

"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."

Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.

"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.

"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.

Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.

For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.

Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.

Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.

So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).

"How d'you pay for all this?"

"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"

"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"

You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.

"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."

He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.

He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.

"Let me help you."

You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.

"Help me?"

Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.

But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.

"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."

Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.

You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.

"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."

He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.

"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"

Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.

"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."

God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.

So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.

And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.

"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.

"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"

"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."

Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.

"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.

Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.

"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.

"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.

"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."

"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.

Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.

"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.

"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"

"It's fine. I've slept worse."

He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.

That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.

Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.

And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.

And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.

Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.

Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.

But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.

"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.

You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.

This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.

He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.

"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."

Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.

Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.

A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.

A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.

"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"

As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.

"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"

He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.

But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.

Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.

He could… he could really get used to this.

Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.

He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.

"-mon."

"Simon!"

The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.

He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.

Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?

"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"

"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."

"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.

"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."

His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.

"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."

"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."

He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.

Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.

"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."

I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.

"Alright."

You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.

Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.

After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."

He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.

"O-okay."

He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."

You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.

You hoped it was the latter.

"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."

The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.

Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.

"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.

"Right, I'm s-"

"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."

"Well you can shut him up-"

"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"

"N-no, sir."

"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"

"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."

"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.

"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."

Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.

He'd be back. He promised.

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