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butyoudidthis4what · 2 months ago

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No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana.

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible.

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him.

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed.

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

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore.

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.”

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you.

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways.

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

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

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Thursday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?”

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Thursday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him.

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

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

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.”

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest.

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.”

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple.

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much.

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp.

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond.

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion.

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you.

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

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

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.”

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.”

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you.

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away.

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger.

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

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack.

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.”

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm.

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him.

“I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder.

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him.

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion.

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know.

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

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack.

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler.

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED.

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby.

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him.

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse.

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim.

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you.

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him.

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do.

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole.

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye?

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby.

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby.

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled.

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street.

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening.

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones.

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart.

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

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary.

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel.

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object.

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling, but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious.

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee.

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way.

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says.

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page.

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him.

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily.

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

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

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own.

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in.

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable.

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself.

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands.

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you.

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once.

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you.

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit.

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be.

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did.

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise.

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood.

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

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

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

Part Two is up!

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comatosebunny09 · 4 months ago

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one in the head, two in the chest | sylus

— summary: the universe had a shitty way of reminding you of your place. — cw: headcanon format, character death, reader is not mc, written with female reader in mind, profanity, mentions of alcohol, blood & injury, sex mention, self-destructive behavior, jealousy, mutual pining, unrequited feelings, melodramatic af, ooc, mdni — notes: is it bad i’m laughing ‘cause @alfredosaws had me singing the chorus for “you give love a bad name” while writing this? listen, don’t judge me i needed to get this out, okay? thank you for reading this dramatic dribble. — now playing: riverside - agnes obel bullet to the heart - jackson wang

It was a partnership of convenience. A mutual agreement.

The terms were simple: Sylus offered you protection, a renewed sense of purpose, and redemption. You handled his opposition, luring them from the shadows and snuffing them out like a candle’s flame.

You performed at his clubs while moonlighting as an assassin. His right hand. His femme fatale. The perfect cover.

You also made money for him, attracting new clientele. It was a win-win.

You struck fear into anyone who would dare sully his name while he got to keep his hands clean.

He never badgered you about your past, and you never pried into his.

The arrangement was flawless. Until it wasn’t.

You didn’t bank on falling for him.

There was no singular moment. No ‘aha!’ No record scratch in a romcom where you, the protagonist, realized, ‘This guy’s got my heart in a bind.’

No.

It was a culmination of things. A gradual descent into irrevocable madness. It was terrifying, like sinking into the depths of a murky sea, only you weren’t thrashing about as water filled your lungs.

Not at first.

You feared letting him down. Feared his rejection and disrupting the lifestyle you had grown so accustomed to.

It was comfortable, the hodgepodge life you constructed with him, the twins, and Mephisto.

You had his back, and he had yours. You were Bonnie and Clyde. You shit-talked and flirted, but it was harmless.

Initially.

Sometimes, the flirting was accompanied by lingering gazes, accidental touches, and lasting smiles that held a little too much yearning.

His treatment towards you didn’t help matters.

He gave you free rein of his mansion. Gave you the codes to his safe houses around the city, his armories. Bought you expensive clothes and intricate costumes to wear when you performed at his clubs.

Cars, jewelry, property. You named it, and Sylus gave it to you.

He held you a little too possessively when you accompanied him to galas and banquets. Never corrected the other guests when they referred to you as ‘his lady.’

Anyone go to his nightclubs specifically requesting you? ‘No. Not this one. Choose someone else.’

He often summoned you to his quarters following your missions to tend to your injuries personally.

Even let you fall into his bed when he filled you with too much wine over dinner at the mansion or when it was too cold to sleep alone.

Nothing ever happened, much to your dismay. He was always such an insufferable fucking gentleman.

Your relationship was far beyond that of employer and employee. Yet you dreaded labeling it, fearing your dynamic would shift for the worst if he knew how you felt about him. You weren’t allowed to feel things for him.

One day, you’d become a liability he couldn’t afford to keep around.

But he was so fucking nice to you. Showed you kindness and temperance in a fast-paced and vapid world. You didn’t deserve this warmth, but you didn’t want to let it go.

You didn’t have to run anymore. Didn’t have to jump from city to city, changing your name, hiding behind your glamor.

He offered you security, safety, and predictability, where you didn’t know if tomorrow would be your last day on Earth.

He coddled your need for independence. Wasn’t stifling or controlling, but he was your security blanket in case you needed him.

He showed you fleeting tenderness that gave you a glimmer of hope that maybe…

Just maybe he pined for you as much as you pined for him.

But you’d never admit it aloud, content with staying at his side, paying off an unspoken debt, even as your heart squeezed each time he showed you a flicker of affection.

Enter Little. Miss. Dazzling. Charming. Irresistible. Hunter.

She swept in like a whirlwind, turning your life upside down on its axis.

He forced her on you. Never explained the intricacies of their relationship, just that she owed him a debt, and he brought her around to collect on it.

You unwillingly became her guardian, tasked with showing her the ropes and dragging her on missions or to meetings.

You hated the arrangement at first. She was all bright-eyed, smiling, and optimistic. Reckless. Strong-headed. In some ways, she was like you. A reflection of the woman you were years before the world robbed you of your innocence.

And she was a Hunter of all things. She could turn you in at the drop of a hat. You served on different sides of the law. There was no telling what information she was feeding the Association behind your backs.

Most of all, you grew to despise how she changed him. How his attention shifted, and she became the center of his universe.

He carted that fleeting softness he’d once shown you, to her.

The man was playing Kitty Cards and sneaking plushies into the mansion for crying out loud.

Singing, wearing bright colors, showing mercy.

The hunter was disarming in a way that you weren’t. Snuck into the fissures of his heart, effortlessly snatching him away from you.

You’d spent years getting accustomed to him. Getting him to crack a rare smile. It took her a matter of months.

You wanted to hate her so much. But with time, she grew on you, too.

Crept her way into your heart with her waywardness, banter, and determination to make herself useful. To prove her worth. To find her niche.

She surprised you time and time again. You thought she would crumble beneath the pressure. That she would eventually give in, realizing the nefarious life you led wasn’t for her.

But pressure formed diamonds, and she became more of an asset than a liability.

And before you knew it, you accepted your fate.

Like with Sylus, there was no singular pivoting point in your relationship. She just…grew on you like a benign tumor.

She became something of a friend—someone you wanted to keep safe. You were inadvertently grooming your replacement. She was no longer your baggage. No longer a thorn in your side.

You had someone else you wanted to protect. Another relationship to nurture.

You started to look forward to the days she’d light up the mansion with her animated stories and colorful personality. Where’d she blunder up your missions but pull through in the end.

You were Thelma and Louise.

And she made Sylus smile in a way you never could. Laugh in a way you never could. Seeing your seemingly cold boss lower his defenses so much was nice, even if it wasn’t your doing.

You sensed their relationship was cosmic. Something orchestrated by the universe. They were so close. So familiar. They had history, a connection that existed long before you stumbled into Sylus’ life.

You found yourself quietly bowing out of a competition you constructed in your mind. She was the better match—the better woman.

Her hands were clean. Yours were crusted with blood.

You never stood a chance from the start.

The closer you grew to Ms. Hunter, the larger the wedge between you and Sylus became.

There was no definitive title to their relationship, at least not one you had heard of. But out of respect for whatever brewed between them, you bowed out, reverting to the rigid partnership you initially shared with Sylus.

To cope with your unrequited feelings, you became self-destructive.

You thrust yourself into missions, trying to keep your mind off things. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t snuff out the feelings you still had for your boss. How shitty of a friend you were, pining for someone who never was yours. Could never be yours.

You drank more. Sought out pleasures of the flesh from people whose faces and names you could never remember.

You skipped meals. Slept like shit. Your Evol was dwindling more each day, reflecting the decaying state of your psyche.

You were punishing yourself in a way. Didn’t think you deserved anything more than a quick fuck. Something to curb the urge. You wanted to be used. Wanted to feel something other than this gut-wrenching pain. This emptiness.

You pushed everyone away, donning that mask of nonchalance you were known for.

Sylus caught on, but you were too wrapped up in your emotional turmoil to notice.

You felt like you were submerged in water, slowly drowning, your hand held out for someone to save you. And Sylus was reaching for it, desperately trying to pull you out. To pull you back to shore.

But you were too prideful to take it. Too prideful to admit you weren’t okay. That you were envious. Resentful. Falling apart at the seams. You were paranoid. You were quietly being shoved out of the picture, and one day, Sylus would no longer find you valuable.

Not when you were molding someone else to fill your shoes.

You felt worse each day because people noticed you weren’t okay. You hated when anyone worried. When people pitied you. You were a big girl—you could take care of yourself. You’d been doing it for years.

Ms. Hunter forced you to confront your feelings one day.

Grabbed you by your shoulders as the sun set over Destiny Cafe, shaking the shit out of you, the table rattling between you. Told you anyone with eyes could see the chemistry brewing between you and Sylus and how you were running from it like a fucking coward.

You were both lovesick puppies, walking on eggshells around each other.

He changed, too. Your cold shoulder, your demeanor—it made him more wary. Careless. Wounded.

‘If you don’t talk to each other, I’m gonna lock you both in a room, and neither of you is coming out until you resolve whatever’s going on between you,’ she said, exasperated.

You scoffed. There was no way Sylus had feelings for you, too. Not when she was in the picture. Not when you were something of convenience, something to further his agenda, protect his assets. His shield. His ever-reliant guard dog.

You didn’t think yourself worthy of affection. You were a weapon. A murderer. Crass. Damaged goods. He deserved better.

But she told you to give him a chance. To stop being so fucking blind. It was driving her ragged, watching you both tread thin ice around her.

She wanted to smack some sense into you. You smirked, placatingly patting her hand on your shoulder. You were rubbing off on her. She was rubbing off on you.

You tried to be more attentive thereon.

Noticed every lasting, yearning look Sylus cast your way with those scarlet eyes. Every errant brush of fingers over your hand, wrist, neck, back. How his voice affectionately sloped whenever he spoke to you, a boyish gleam to his eyes. He was gentle and homely and trying.

And you weren’t used to it. You were afraid of it.

You still had your moments when you ran. When you shoved him away, thinking things were too good to be true.

An overwhelming part of you still believed you weren’t good enough.

But he was trying. Really trying. He didn’t even use you as bait anymore. Rarely sent you on missions where he knew you’d encounter some strife. He was more protective. More considerate, and it made your stomach twist.

Things came to a head one fateful evening.

He called you as the sun sought refuge behind the horizon. You’d been dodging him for weeks.

You were seated at a cafe, trying to breathe.

The conversation was intense. Emotional. You were misty-eyed as it drew to a conclusion. Voice all croaky, throat rubbed raw.

You were tired of running again. Exhausted with pushing yourself to the back burner in favor of others. You needed to know what his intentions were with you. If he was serious about you. If he was sure you were what he wanted.

He told you he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

You cried. You fucking cried, pacing around in that stupid cafe. You hadn’t cried in years. You hated how it made you feel. You were pathetic.

When his voice broke through the static on your cell phone, it simmered with emotion. He sounded suspiciously close, telling you to turn around.

You did as he instructed, accustomed to doing what you were told without a second thought.

He stood before you, his phone still held to his ear, anguish screwing up his brows, a forlorn smile curving his lips.

You watched him, misty-eyed and wobbly-lipped.

The cafe’s wispy curtains fluttered between you. The setting sun limned both your bodies in amber. It was like a dream.

Unspoken words hung in the air, nebulous like a cloud. Neither of you had to say a thing. This feeling between you, it was practically tangible.

He was wordless when he conquered the space between you in two long strides, tugging you into the circle of his arms.

He smelled so good. Felt so warm. So strong. So safe. You crumbled. He held you as you cried, stroking over your back, whispering words of affirmation into the crown of your head. Apologized over and over again.

You felt stupid. Melodramatic. But he came for you.

It felt kind of nice—having someone chase you for once. Having someone pour every bit of themselves into you when all you’d known were crumbs.

He made love to you later that night.

Made. Love.

You were used to hot, furtive, emotionless sessions where you often forgot your partner’s name.

But Sylus, he…

He was so fucking gentle and patient and attentive. Asked if you were alright every chance he could. Handled you like glass, ensuring your needs were satiated long before he pursued his own.

He made you feel full. Warm. Revered.

Filled you to the brim. Covered you like a warm blanket on the coldest night. His praise made your toes go numb. Made hot tears scorch down your face as your tongue wrapped around his name in pleasure once more.

Your relationship blossomed thereafter.

Your insecurities still beckoned you with their scraggly fingers from time to time. But Sylus treated you more like a lover. An equal. A partner.

For the first time in over a decade, you felt genuine happiness. You were healing.

But it was short-lived. There was always a nagging voice in the deepest reaches of your mind, reminding you everything good would eventually meet its end.

You were awaiting a fireworks show at the pier with Sylus, Ms. Hunter, and her friends. The carnival was in full swing.

You were browsing the stalls littering the boardwalk. Ran your fingers over various trinkets, your lips aching with a smile.

You decided to grab snow cones for two of the most important people in your life. It was a sweltering summer night, the kind of weather that covered every bit of exposed skin in a fine sheen of sweat.

Your purchases were in your hands, and you returned to them. Your heart pulled at the sight that greeted you.

They were standing together—Sylus and the hunter—leaning against the rail. Laughing, smiling, teasing. They looked so comfortable. So cozy. Something out of a painting. So natural.

Even long after you and Sylus became exclusive, you still had days when your feelings of inadequacy crept in.

But they still looked like they fit together better than you did. You felt like an interloper. Like you were witnessing something you had no business being a part of. The universe was sending you signals. Warnings you should’ve heeded long ago.

The snow cones melted in your hands, their sticky, cold sweetness dripping down your knuckles, you had been watching them for so long.

Someone called for you through the cacophony of the other carnival-goers, dredging you from your thoughts. You turned, plastering on a fake smile as you acknowledged Tara.

You jogged towards her, tamping down those nagging feelings. Sylus loved you. They both did.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

There was a familiar whizzing sound. The smell of carbon. Smoke. A sharp pain in your chest. You were moored to the spot as your smile melted away.

The snow cones fell from your hands. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to stand. You looked down as the crowd erupted in horrified screams.

Red lazily spilled onto your shirt between your ribs until it was all you could see. You looked up, your vision bleary as Tara’s panicked face blurred in and out of focus.

You sank to your knees, the air siphoned from your lungs. You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. You were falling. Sinking to the ground when—

Hands. Hands were pulling at you from all angles onto your back. Frantic, muddled voices. Screaming. Shouting. Shoving.

The boardwalk rocked beneath you as people ran every which way. You couldn’t keep your eyes open. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, your voice gurgled and wet. The taste of iron was dense on the back of your tongue.

You felt weightless. You were being pulled into a familiar embrace. Swaddled in that familiar scent. Your cheeks were wet, but not from your tears.

Scarlet. You recall scarlet eyes flitting in and out of clarity as your vision darkened around the corners like a vignette. You reached up to touch them. To touch that warm, stubbled cheek. Trace those pretty, petal pink lips. That beautiful nose.

You were cold. So cold. So weak. Shaky. You managed a smile as blood flooded your chest. Filled the space between your teeth.

Your hand fell away, thudding against the floorboards. You couldn’t move. Why couldn’t you move? Why couldn’t you—

You were slipping away, the homely call of darkness pulling you under.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him scream like that. It was blood-curdling. Devastating. Fire and brimstone. Like demons tearing through hell’s gates.

You wanted to comfort him. Never wanted to hear that sort of anguish in his voice again. But you couldn’t. Fucking. Move.

You were dying.

Maybe this was your punishment for tempting fate—his punishment for choosing you over what was already predetermined.

Fate always had a way of mucking things up, didn’t it?

#sylus x non mc reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #sylus qin #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #tw: death #tw: blood

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willowed-wisp · 7 months ago

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ghost as a dad [ simon riley ]

part two | part three

- Never wanted kids, he was so careful not to get you pregnant but with the amount you guys fuck, it was bound to happen.

- You’re scared when you get that positive test… you cry out of fear that you’ll have to get rid of the thing you had always wanted.

- It took you a week to gain the courage to tell him, you just left the pregnancy test on the kitchen table and left for work. You wanted to let him sit with it for a few hours.

- When you did return home, he sat on the sofa- elbows to knees looking down at the test. How long had he been like that?

- You waited for him to speak, while you shuffled around with that nauseous feeling bubbling in your stomach.

- It was late in the afternoon so you started chopping some vegetables for dinner, “I’ll call the termination clinic in the morning…” Your voice mulled over the slices weighing down on the wooden chopping board.

- Fingers crawled along your waistband as he rested against the sink. “No. You’re not.” You rested the knife down.

- “I thought you didn’t want kids…?” Your eyes on the verge of tearing, looking back at him. Your cool, mysterious man… finding purchase in those deep dark eyes.

- His bare hands wrapped around you- resting under your shirt. “I can’t put you through tha’,” His light hair tickled while his chin rested on your shoulder, “You’re the only person I’d wanna do this with.”

- He was there for the first and second of your pregnancy. Simon held your hair back while you threw up almost every day and he rubbed your back.

- Simon is very careful when having sex with you, but he soon realised that you feel everything 10x as much. And your sex drive is through the roof, he’s never been so needy in his entire life… you were so desperate for him and he wanted you just as much.

- Simon gets deployed during your 7th month. He doesn’t want to go… nearly refuses. Unfortunately he can’t do that.

- You’re stressed after he leaves. But his family takes care of you- he asked for them to.

- When he lands back on British soil, he immediately phones you. You pick up, and the cry of a baby is all he hears before he drops the phone and falls to his knees.

- He’s crying, actually in tears. “Is Y/N alright, LT?” Of course Soap was the one to see him like that.

- Simon nods, laughing, “I’m a dad…”

- He’s never driven so fast in his life, and you’re there on the sofa he had been 8 months ago with that test in his hand. This time you cradle a little human in your arms, swaddled like a bundle.

- He drops to his knees once more, ripping his mask off. And your warmth covers him with the little sighs coming from the now awake baby.

- Simon fell in love. He didn’t know if he was looking at a son or a daughter.

- You two didn’t want to know the gender.

- “Simon Riley… meet your daughter…” He melted again, face red and brown eyes bloodshot as he cradled the little one in his arms. Dotting into the identical eyes staring up at him.

- That’s when he held her close, head against his chest. “My little princess…” He hummed so gentle, rocking her slightly.

- He is so girl dad coded. He’ll be so sweet with her and she’d always come to her dad if anything was wrong

- Your little girl would play with his masks all the time, it never annoyed him- only making him giggle. Telling her to stop so playfully and boyishly, that you’d never seen him so soft-hearted before.

- You most likely have at most two more children after your daughter- maybe one girl and a boy.

- Simon definitely teaches your children self defence from a young age. Safety was everything and he wasn’t always around to protect them.

- He’s there every award ceremony he’s on leave and is the most doting father ever.

- Your children’s friends are terrified of him, until they get him talking- then they’re like ‘your dad’s cool.’

Did you want a part 2 of this?

Part Two is posted!

———

masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #headcanon #cod smut #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod

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kitkatscabinet · 2 years ago

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Nothing fucks with my baby

Simon Riley x wife reader

Summary: Simon is the Earth orbiting your sun and he'll do anything to keep you safe and happy, even if that means resorting to bloody means.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: attempted non-con (not by Simon)

@ghosts-cyphera for you pookie, hope you enjoy!

Eight months. It’s been eight long, tortuous months since Simon saw you in person. Eight months of living off brief Skype calls interrupted by work schedules and shitty internet cutting out mid-call, an age since he’s touched you. Since he’s breathed in your scent and cradled you against his muscular chest, since he’s tasted you. Pictures of you weren’t enough, even if you’d gifted him a set of delectable Polaroids showcasing your gorgeous body decorated with black and white lingerie.

Long deployments had never bothered him, not until you’d become the central part of his life. Simon was the Earth, orbiting your sun reverently and fervently. He’d worship you on his knees for eternity if that’s what you desired.

His appetite for you has always been ravenous, but his need for you has been greatly nourished after months of no contact. The door to your shared home swings open with a bang, the anticipation coursing through his veins diminishing his control in a way he knows you’ll scold him for. His bag is dropped carelessly in the foyer as he stalks through the space, a man on a mission to find you. Not even the weary exhaustion after months of shit sleep and shared communal spaces would deter him from his mission.

You’re not in your home office or the bedroom and Simon’s frustration simmers under his skin as he marches straight back out the door. It’s only the knowledge that you’ll be devastated to have missed his surprise homecoming that tempers his annoyance.

Ghost is beyond irritated by the time he arrives at your work, not necessarily at you, he knows how seriously you take your career, it’s one of the reasons he was so drawn to you. Once some lowly private had made a snide remark about you being the breadwinner, scoffing at Simon for letting his wife ‘emasculate’ him like that. It was only Price playing damage control that kept him from a dishonourable discharge that day. He had no regrets, especially after the incident taught people to keep your name out of their mouths.

It’s late, well past working business hours when he keys into the building using the code you’d given specially for him. So it shouldn’t surprise him how empty it is, most of the lights turned off as he made his way to your office, but Simon hadn’t survived over a decade in the military without learning to trust his gut. A distinct uneasiness settles in his body, narrowed eyes surveying the space for anything out of the ordinary as he increases his pace to get to you.

The light in your office is on, the door is left open carelessly and gives Simon a clear view of the sight of you bent over your desk trying not to cry as a man holds a gun to your head and fumbles with your sleek dress pants. Simon thought he knew rage, but any anger he’s ever felt is drowned in comparison to the sheer righteous fury that alights his veins.

He closes the gap in record time, red filtering out the corners of his vision and spraying over his knuckles as he rips the interloper away and viciously lays into him. Any slurred words pleading for mercy are ignored and shut down as Simon’s fist renders the man’s mouth an inoperable bloody mess.

His arm aches furiously by the time he pulls back, chest heaving with breaths that have long since been silenced from the scumbag that now lay dead on the floor of your office. It’s the sound of your shaky sobs that pulls Simon back from the brink, immediately darting towards you, shaky hands stained with blood cradling you against his bulk gently.

He’s vibrating with an explosive cocktail of fury, fear, outrage and relief. You press yourself tighter against his chest like you’re trying to burrow into the safety of his ribcage. Simon can’t bring himself to speak, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he buries his face into the top of your head. The silence is broken by the shaky inhales of your rattling breaths and sobs.

All too soon you’re pulling away, even when he fights to keep you safe and sound against his chest. “Simon? What… what’s going to happen with-” You try and turn your gaze towards the corpse staining your carpet but Simon prevents you with a hand grasping your jaw, preventing you from getting a glimpse at the carnage.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head darling, I’ll take care of it. But first, let's get you home yeah?” He walks you from the building to your car with a supportive arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you against his side before sliding you into the passenger seat of your car. It’s a testament to how shaken you are that you don’t protest, remaining silent and clutching the hand that grasps your thigh like a lifeline.

It doesn’t take long to tuck you into bed, wrapping you tightly in the blanket like it will protect you from the horrors of the outside world. The adrenaline had faded from your body making way for the exhaustion. Simon doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure the clutches of sleep have pulled you under, and even then, it's with extreme hesitation that he stands and leaves the bedroom, reaching for his phone to make a call.

Luckily, you don’t wake even once in the hours that follow as he waits for news of the cleanup. He spends that time alternating between checking in on you, watching you breathe peacefully and pacing the linoleum floors that you’d insisted on.

A single knock on the front door pulls him from the spiral of thoughts that threatened to pull him further and further into darkness. He opens the door to an unimpressed Price, who pushes his way in with Gaz and Soap trailing after. Expectantly he stares at them, watching as Price lights a cigar and takes a long drag.

“It’s done. Did you have to make such a mess though son?” It’s an innocuous enough comment but one that raises Ghost’s hackles anyway and he shoots a venomous glare at his captain that would never have been acceptable in any other circumstances. His shoulders tense and it takes everything in him to keep his voice somewhat level.

“That fucker laid his hands on my wife!” He inhaled shakily as he remembered what he’d almost been too slow to prevent, unable to prevent the rise of volume as he yelled at his captain, “My wife! He’s lucky I didn’t paint the room with his insides!” The baritone of his booming snarl is loud enough that even Soap flinches slightly with widened eyes.

There’s a tense silence but his captain nods, something like approval in his gaze before his eyes slide towards the right and Simon turns just in time to witness you call his name, voice hoarse with sleep and eyes red from tears.

He crosses the space and curls you against him in record time, nonchalantly throwing a dismissive wave towards his team who simply nod in understanding and file back outside. “Were those the boys? You didn’t have to kick them out” you murmured though Simon was already hushing you, leading you back to bed with a firm hand on the small of your back.

“Don’t worry ‘bout them lovie, they were leavin’ anyway” he waved away your concerns, finally kicking off his shoes, trapping you in his arms and pulling you down onto the mattress. You squeak at his actions, giggling as his stubble tickles the skin of your neck.

Despite how pent-up and desperate for your touch he is, Simon makes no move to escalate the situation, settling you in his arms and simply breathing you in. Neither of you speak about the earlier incident, not willing to shatter the peace. Though Simon lets out the occasional hum when your hands trace gentle circles over his heart, focusing on the steady beat of his pulse beneath your palm.

Inevitably the lingering emotions of the day would have to be dealt with, but not yet, Simon would allow himself to relish in the peace just a little longer.

#x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kat’s writing #cod simon riley #simon riley

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