#simon ghost riley x fem reader

[lilywastaken]

⇝ 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.

[random-thot-generator]

Try a Little Tenderness

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Reader

Summary: Simon has just returned home in the middle of the night from a mission in less than stellar condition. Understanding that he was in desperate need of some TLC, you put aside the ‘frenemy’ dynamic the two of you usually operate within to take care of him, instead. Your gentle ministrations elicit a reaction that neither of you expect, but perhaps have been yearning for all along.

Warnings: Language, explicit sexual content, touching of naughty bits - Simon gets a helping hand in the bath, fluff and feelings, no Y/N

(A/N: This is a thot connected to an idea I had for a series. Still not sure about the series, but what ev. 

This is just me exploring the intimate relationship between the characters. It is minor smut compared to what I usually write, meant to be a vulnerable moment for Simon, and for reader as well. I dunno, I feel like a certain amount of trust needs to be established before Simon allows himself to be with someone in an intimate way. 

For a little backstory, Reader is Simon’s housekeeper/roommate/frenemy. It’s been platonic up to this point, but there have been some charged moments leading up to this. This is the turning point in the relationship, the first time Simon allows himself to really indulge in reader’s attention and care. Reader and Simon have been living together for about a year by this point but have known each other for almost two. Simon’s pet name for reader is ‘Doll’; reader’s pet name for Simon is ‘Grumpy’.)

Word Count: 2777

It was almost midnight by the time Simon shuffled through his front door. He was dead on his feet, still wearing the same clothes he put on three days ago, covered in filth and stinking to high hell. He would normally have stayed on base, cleaned up, ate and retired to his quarters to rest, but for some reason, he’d texted you mid-flight to tell you he was on his way back. He hadn’t been expecting an immediate answer, but he got one.

[DOLL]: What’s ur ETA? I’ll wait up 4 u. Have u eaten? 

Simon had hovered over his phone, glancing about the plane, not sure how to respond. He supposed he didn’t have to stay on base. He’d just never had a reason to return home before. He knew he should tell you not to wait up, to go to bed, that he would see you tomorrow, but instead he found himself tapping out a different message.

[GRUMPY]: Landing in twenty. Be home approx 2hrs.

[DOLL]: I’ll be waiting. C u soon.

He re-read the message several times. ‘I’ll be waiting.’ This was new for him, having someone to go home to, having someone there expecting him, waiting up to see him. Sure, he had come home to you before, but not like this. This was... premeditated.

As he closed the door behind him and locked it, he heard your feet padding through the sitting room and turned. He couldn’t help the smile that spread under the balaclava when he saw you. You were dressed in one of his old T-shirts, a pair of flannel sleep shorts peeking out beneath the hem, and a pair of those ugly fuzzy socks on your feet. Your hair was loose and hanging down your back, not quite dry yet from an earlier shower, and your face was free of makeup. He liked seeing you like this better than any other way.

You were looking at him in that direct way that always got to him, assessing him, checking him over. He waited for one of your customary snarky greetings, but instead your brows furrowed.

“You look exhausted, Si. C’mere. Sit down,” you instructed, pointing at the entryway bench. Simon didn’t even hesitate, just did as he was told. He watched you kneel before him and start unlacing his boots.

“Ya don’t got t’do that, Doll. I can―“

“Si, hush,” you murmured, your voice soft and gentle. “I got this, okay? You’re home. Relax.”

He didn’t have it in him to argue, so let you have your way. You removed his boots and stuck them under the bench by his trainers, then stood and held your hand out. “C’mon. You need a bath.”

He let you lead him up the stairs, but instead of taking him to his ensuite bathroom, you led him down the hallway to the bathroom that you used. You motioned for him to sit down on the toilet while you stoppered the tub and turned on the taps. He watched with curiosity as you opened the cabinet below the sink, taking out a glass jar filled with some sort of pinkish granules, sprinkling a generous portion of it into the filling tub.

“Wha’s that?”

“Epsom salts with lavender and eucalyptus. It’ll help ease your sore muscles,” you told him, replacing the jar in the cabinet. You turned to look him over again. “Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes. I’ll get you some clean ones once you’re in the bath. C’mon. Arms up.”

Simon thought about objecting. He was a grown man, he could undress himself, but as soon as he felt your hands on him, all complaints went right out the window. He held his arms out so you could pull the tail of his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, shivering when he felt your fingers graze his lats as you peeled it up and over his head.

“I smell like shite,” he grumbled, embarrassed for you to be this close to him when he was in such a disgusting state.

You huffed, the sound low and amused. “You smell like a soldier who just got back from deployment. Believe me, I’ve smelled worse.” You motioned for him to stand again. Once he regained his feet, your hands went to his waist, undoing the belt and pulling it free, then you undid the button and fly of his jeans. You pushed them down until they bunched around his knees, then instructed him to lean on you while you tugged them off his legs.

And he just... let you. He had not had anyone care for him like this since his last stint in the medical bay, and that had been a male nurse with hands rougher than his own. He’d not had a woman care for him like this since he was a small boy, when his mother would get him ready for his bath. He felt his chest constrict, almost told you to stop, but your hand on the back of his calf silenced him.

“Foot up,” you said, letting him lean on you again as you stripped off first one sock and then the other. Once you straightened, you placed a hand at the small of his back and gave him a gentle push towards the tub. “I’ll go get you some clean clothes while you get in,” you said, then stooped to gather up his dirty things. “Be back in a minute.”

You left him staring after you, disappearing down the hallway. He turned back to the tub, eyeing the hot water lapping at the sides. Aromatic steam rose from its surface, too tempting to ignore. Pushing his underwear off his hips, he let them drop on the floor and stepped out of them, then climbed into the tub.

He groaned long and low as the hot water enveloped him, certain he had never felt anything better in his whole life. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back on the edge, only then realizing that he still had on his balaclava. He hesitated for a moment, then reached up and pulled it off as well, dropping the dirty hood on top of his underwear. Fuck it. You’d seen his face before and hadn’t made a big deal out of it, didn’t even comment on it, really, just took it in stride like you did everything else.

He cracked an eye open when you re-entered the room, watching as you placed his clean clothes on the counter next to the sink. You opened another cabinet and removed some towels and a washcloth, glanced over at him, then opened a drawer and took out what looked like a pack of wipes and a squat, plastic jar with a pink lid. You brought it all to the tub with you and knelt by the side, near his head. You held up the pack of wipes and pointed at the black paint around his eyes.

“Figured these would help take that gunk off. I’ve got some cold cream, too. Can I...”

You wanted to touch his face. His mouth dropped open to say no, but then he closed it and swallowed. You were looking right at him, a normal expression on your face, not flinching away or averting your eyes. If it didn’t bother you, then he would allow it. For now. He gave a slow nod of assent.

You opened the pack of wipes and set them beside you, then opened the cold cream. “Lean your head back and close your eyes for me.”

Simon did as he was told, though his brain was sounding a klaxon alarm in his head. He was exposing his throat to someone, was closing his eyes and leaving himself vulnerable to your mercy. Did you see how tense he was? Could you see the muscles spasming as he fought not to move, to push you away, to fend you off like an enemy? Did you understand what this was doing to him right now?

Apparently, you did, at least to some extent. 

“Okay, Si. I’m going to put this cream around your eyes. It will feel cold, so don’t freak out. If you need to stop, just say the word. Alright?”

“Yeah,” he croaked out, waiting, steeling himself for the contact.

The first touch had him flinching, but he forced himself to remain still as you spread the cream around his eyes, working it in with your fingers in small circular motions. When you finished, you set the jar down and picked up the wipes. “I’m gonna clean all this off with these wipes. They’ll feel cold, too.”

This time, he only nodded, more relaxed now. Your touch had been soothing once he’d gotten used to it. It was... nice. He didn’t even twitch an eyelash when he felt the cool pressure of your fingers against his jaw, letting you tilt his head towards you. Your other hand began wiping gently at his face with one of the wipes. They smelled slightly floral, similar to the cold cream; he liked it.

It took several minutes to clean his face, neither of you saying anything. You were patient and methodical, cleaning away all the paint until none of it remained.

“Okay. Done with that,” you murmured, fingers moving from his face to his hair. “I’m going to wash your hair next, okay?”

“Hm,” he hummed in consent, not even bothering to open his eyes.

You wet his hair and then poured shampoo into your palm, working your hands together before placing them on his head. As your fingers curled and began to work his hair into a lather, Simon couldn’t help the low groan that rumbled out. It felt like heaven, the way your fingers massaged his scalp and neck. He could have whined when you stopped, but his breath hitched when he felt your fingertips under his chin, tilting his head back.

“Just need to rinse your hair, Grumpy. Keep your eyes closed.”

Again, he did as you instructed, not offering so much as a grunt of complaint when you rinsed his hair and then used the washcloth to dry his face. You raked your fingers through his hair, noting how choppy and uneven it was. Maybe he’d let you cut it some time, but for now, you would stick to what you knew he would allow.

“How ‘bout I wash your back for you and then I’ll go downstairs and make you something to eat while you finish your bath?”

He blinked his eyes open and stared at you. The steam and trapped heat from the bath were making you sweat, a light sheen making your skin gleam in the warm light. He had the sudden urge to run his thumb up your throat, collect the moisture beading there and taste it. He felt his cock give a twitch of interest below the water and brought his bent knees closer together. Grasping the edges of the tub, he pulled himself in to a sitting position, back bowed towards you.

Pleased to see him so cooperative, you dunked the washcloth in the water and grabbed your body wash, squirting out a couple of dollops. Working the cloth in your hands until you had a good lather, you rested one hand on his shoulder and used the other to slowly scrub the cloth over his back in large circles. You could feel the tension easing out of his shoulders, watched his head tip forward until he finally crossed his forearms on his knees and rested his forehead against them.

When you were done with his back, you didn’t stop, moving up to his shoulders and then down his arm. He leaned back, studying the way you washed each finger, working the cloth between them. You glanced up at him. “Other arm?”

He twisted around and held his arm out to you, resting his wrist on the edge of the tub. You washed it with as much care as you had the other, leaning over the tub to reach his underarm. When you went to slide the cloth away, he caught your wrist and pulled it to the center of his chest. He then closed his eyes and leaned back, letting his head rest against the edge again.

Slow circles worked the lathered cloth over his broad chest and collarbones, and you smiled when he tipped his chin up to let you wash his neck. A soft breath hissed between his lips as your hand dipped below the water’s surface to wash his sides and stomach, his brows ticking together when you brought the cloth back up. He shifted, his knees going wide to lean against the sides of the tub.

You were beginning to feel heat simmering in your lower belly that sent a blush creeping up your neck. “Do, uh... I can wash your legs next. If you like.”

He caught your hand in his, eyes still closed, and pushed it beneath the water again. “Wash here,” he replied, his voice like gravel in his throat.

You held your breath as he guided your hand down to his cock, let him wrap your fingers around its swollen girth and hold them there. His chest was rising and falling, chin tipping forward to rest on it when he felt you grip him tighter. Your lips parted as you gave him a tentative stroke, your breath puffing out in little pants as you watched him let out a shuddering breath, his eyes rolling open to reveal a lust-dazed expression before sliding closed again.

Your hand slid up and down his shaft in slow, even strokes, working him gradually, wanting him to enjoy what you were doing to him. His pleasure incited your own, and you could feel your panties grow damp with your arousal as you watched him slowly fall apart. He was panting now, head lolling back once more, hooded, hazy eyes staring up at the ceiling, his knuckles going white as they gripped the edge of the tub.

Your thighs squeezed together when a wrecked moan tore from his lips as you worked at him beneath the cloudy water, wishing it was clear enough for you to see him as well as feel him. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, the feel of his hot length pulsing in your hand almost too much to bear.

“Ah, fuck...” he huffed out, his back beginning to curl forward. He lifted his eyes to yours, mouth open and panting, a look of near desperation on his face. His hand came up to grip the nape of your neck, drawing you close until his forehead rested against yours, holding your gaze. His nose brushed against yours in an intimate caress, lips almost touching, the two of you sharing the same air. “Don’t stop,” he husked out.

The speed of your strokes increased, your hand slipping up to focus on the head, making his knees draw up as he tensed. You could feel him swelling in your hand, growing bigger and harder as he neared his release. His eyes grew wide, mouth falling open as his jaw went slack.

“It’s okay, Simon,” you whispered to him, “I got you,” and that was all the prompting he needed.

His grip turned into a vice on the nape of your neck as he erupted beneath the surface of the water, and he growled against your mouth, teeth gritting into a snarl as he pulsed in your hand. You didn’t stop stroking him until his eyes closed and grip loosened on your neck, his breaths puffing out in exerted gasps over your lips.

You let him rest against you, not bothering to move or say anything, wanting him to have this quiet moment, to just relax in the knowledge that he was home and safe, that you were here for him. You closed your eyes and let yourself enjoy the moment as well, relishing the quiet, the peace.

Simon’s eyes flickered open, not sure what to expect, only to find your eyes closed, lashes shadowing your cheeks, a gentle smile on your face. You looked so calm, so at peace. You looked... content.

You blinked your eyes open, startled, when you felt the hesitant press of his lips against yours, but you didn’t shy away, instead letting him feel you smile against his lips before you tenderly kissed him back.

[mockerycrow]

2&3 with ghost x fem!reader plsss🙏

SMUT PROMPTS: Ghost Drabble; “Putting A Hand Over Their Mouth To Be Quiet” + “Overstimulating Them Until They’re Begging” (Fem!Reader - NSFW UNDER THE CUT

I didn’t know if you wanted to overstim Ghost or for him to overstim you, so I chose for him to overstim you. If you’d like it the other way, don’t be afraid to request this combo again!

You whine against the gloved mouth that’s covering your mouth and nearly covering your nose—fuck, his fingers are fucking into you at a nasty pace, giving you no breaks. Ghost whispers into your ear, “Do’you hear how slick you are, lovie? How it’s only us, my fingers deep in your cunt, and you’re this wet for me?” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you’re nearing your second orgasm of the night, just from his fingers alone.

You lean more against his chest, one of your hands grabbing the wrist near your mouth and the other near your greedy pussy. You try to pry the hand off of your mouth off, and once it’s off for a moment you sob out, “M’cumming—fuckfuck, please, I’m—“ Ghost’s fingers don’t hesitate to bully your g-spot, and your legs slightly raise as you orgasm, your body trembling with your eyes closed.

Except, his fingers don’t stop. Your eyes open frantically when you feel his fingers fuck into your sensitive cunt over and over, almost like he’s trying to fuck you stupid with just his hand. You try to let out muffled protests and Ghost shushes you, muttering in your ear, “Let me do this, sweet girl. Love how your cunt squeezes my fingers, cum for me one more time. Ah, ah, ah—No, darling, cum again, just like this, or not at all.”

[pokechbi]

Hey! Thank you a lot for your works, I literally want to kiss your hands!!

Here’s my request: Simon’s reaction that reader uses toys. Like now reader has him and why’s she still using them. That’s kinda a main idea

English is not my mother tongue so I hope you’ll understand what I meant 👉🏻👈🏻

Thank you so so much!! Your feedback means the WORLD to me <333 Hope you enjoy!

🎀Let me be your fuck toy, darling🎀

Simon Riley x Fem Reader !!

NSFW!!! MDNI

Fem anatomy used

WC: 1.5K

Enjoy babies 💗

It had been exactly one week since Simon slept in your apartment for the first time. It had taken him a while to get comfortable enough to sleep in someone else's home, but you didn't once think of blaming him. The stuff he'd been through would drive the devil himself to tears. You understood why he was nervous about letting his guard down. So when he finally fell asleep on your couch for the first time, you jumped up in joy, snapped a picture of him and hopped around your apartment happily. You sat on the floor in front of the couch, watching him as he snored, his balaclava still snug on his head.

Nowadays, he slept over more often than not. He would sleep in your bed, an arm wrapped around your waist, or a hand stuffed in between the warmth of your thighs. This often led to you staying up way past your bedtime, wishing he'd wake up and just start fingering the life out of you. He knew that this made you horny. He knew that the lack of friction drove you insane, that it would keep you from sleeping. You cursed him as he slept like a baby while you suffered.

So you did what any girl would do. You went through your nightstand, pulling out the vibrator you purchased months before you and Simon met. You stuffed your fingers in your mouth, bringing them down to your cunt as you slid your panties off with the other hand. You kept your eyes on a shirtless Simon as he snored, his hair disheveled and sprawled all over his forehead. You took note of the balaclava next to his pillow, smiling at how he'd gotten more comfortable sleeping with it off. As you spread your legs open, you switch the vibrator on, slipping it between your slick folds, resting it on your clit. The sudden stimulation causes you to jerk, letting out a soft yelp. You hadn't used it in some time, being that Simon was your go-to for pleasure. But he was torturing you, and you couldn't sleep until you let go of the tension. You cover your mouth with your free hand, your breathing shaky as you feel the nerves of your clit electrify with the vibrations. You needed to cum fast, the toy wasn't the quietest. You didn't know how Simon would react knowing you used a vibrator without him knowing. And you didn’t want to find out. You closed your eyes, imagining you and Simon together, your legs wrapped around his waist as he slams into you repeatedly. You imagine his moans and guttural groans, as they usually turned you on so much and helped you reach your orgasm. You smile as the scenario plays out in your head. You start bucking your hips slowly, moaning quietly into your hand as you feel your core begin to tighten and the toy turning slippery with your slick.

Your heart drops as you feel a strong hand grab yours, squeezing your wrist so hard your fingers drop the vibrator. He grabs it, turning it around in his free hand. It's shiny with your slick, the smell of you wafting off of it. He's sitting up on his knees now, staring down at your face. You can tell by the blankness in his eyes that he was pissed. More than pissed, he was utterly enraged. Simon had a traditional way of viewing sex. He didn't think you needed toys because you had him. And (big surprise), he's a dominant man who expected you to be patient and wait for him to please you. But you couldn't.

He looked down at the vibrator in his hand, scoffing quietly to himself. He lets go of your wrist, the stinging pain incapacitating your entire arm for a slight moment. You stare up at him, your breathing picking up in nervousness as he keeps quiet. He reaches down, gripping your jaw so hard your muscles instinctively react, your jaw now hanging open wide. He smiles devilishly, bringing his other hand up to your face. He waves the vibrator in front of your face, sliding it under your nose so you smell yourself on it. He chuckles lowly, his gruff voice sexing your ears. He suddenly shoves the vibrator in your mouth, rubbing your slick off on your tongue as you squirm under him. His grip on your jaw grew stronger as you whined and squirmed, not letting up on you. His smile ran a chill down your spine. He was staring at you, a glint of predatory hunger in his eyes. 

“Tsk tsk. Such a desperate little whore. Couldn’t even wait for me to wake up.” He growled. You squirm under his grip, whining as he pushed the vibrator further down your throat. You gag, your eyes rolling back into your head as the taste of yourself swirls on your tongue. He removes the vibrator from your mouth, painfully slow. Your eyes tear as he does this, a grin on his lips as the tears fall down your face. You cough, your breathing becoming heavier as he stares down at you pitifully. He shakes his head as he chuckles, leaning down to your face. He crashes his lips with yours, hungrily biting your lip. He doesn’t let go, bringing his teeth down harder on your bottom lip. You feel him reach down, parting your legs with a strong hand. The taste of his saliva mixes with the taste of your slick, an erotic aroma lingering between the both of you. Your head burns with white hot pain as he bites down on your lip, causing you to whine out in pain. He brings a palm up, slamming it down on your thigh. You feel the sting linger, your head throbbing with misery. He lets go of your lip and backs away, a string of saliva connecting you to him. He leans back on his knees, stroking himself through his boxers as he watches you squirm. He holds your thigh down with a death grip, his fingers digging into your skin. He groans, throwing his head back as he begins taking his boxers off. You watch him, your mind aching with a mix of fear, and arousal. He never failed to make you wet just by the mere sight of him naked. You squeeze your thighs together, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Like what you see, love?” He chuckles, moving himself between your legs once more. You notice the vibrator next to you, still glistening with saliva. He looks between you and the vibrator, a devilish smile on his face. He grabs it before you can react, switching it on. He turns it around in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth. He licks a stripe over it, coating it in his saliva. He smirks as he brings it down to your clit, a jolt running through your core as he slides it between your folds. The warmth of his saliva makes you buck your hips instinctively. You close your eyes, shame coursing through your veins. You suddenly feel him slide the toy down, slipping it inside of you. You cry out, your eyes squeezing shut tighter. “Look. At. Me.” He demanded. “I don’t care how ashamed you are.” Your eyes fly open, struggling to stabilize your vision as the vibrations graze your spongy G-spot. You moan out, your gaze connecting with his. He smirks down at you, bringing the vibrator back up to your clit. Your hips buck upwards, squirming under him as he moves himself closer between your legs. You feel the warm tip of his cock line up with your hole, shamelessly pushing its way into you. Your head swirls with pleasure, the two sources of stimulation causing your core to bubble instantly. You moan softly, bucking your hips forward. 

“Fuck. So fuckin’ tight, lovie,” He groans, pushing his throbbing length into you. He starts to thrust, holding the vibrator against your clit steady. 

“What makes you think you can use these useless fuckin’ toys when I’m layin’ right. Fucking. There.” He grunts, thrusting into you with every syllable of his words. You mewl under him, squirming and mumbling nonsense as beads of sweat start to appear on your forehead. He presses the vibrator into your clit harder, expecting you to answer him. 

“ ‘m sorry Simon. ‘m so sorry.” You whine. Your walls pulse and warm with every thrust, the vibrator causing your orgasm to conjure instantly. “n-need you…just your cock Simon…please, ‘m sorry.” 

“Atta girl.” Simon groans, turning the vibrator off, and tossing it to the floor. You breathe heavily as you come down from your orgasm. He leans down, his breath searing your ear.

“Let me be your fuck toy, darling.”

[the-oracles-maw]

Take Care of Yourself, Luv? Please?

I am sick 🤪

Imagine Simon looking after you when you catch a cold

Imagine whenever he's not on deployment and living out the civilian life, he's constantly pestered by you to look after himself. He's so used to following orders he forgets the orders from his body.

Imagine Simon begrudgingly accepting your need to mother hen the man, to act like the perfect little housewife for him. It's embarrassing, but so endearing.

"What? Yeah, I just got home, luv. Price got us on the run around, I'll tell ya. ... Eh, I don't know what I want for dinner. Whatever you want, alright? ... No, no you don't have to do that... You... luv, you don't need to run me a bath..."

From his natural expertise as a soldier, he can immediately hear it in your voice that you're a bit... sniffly.

"Hey, you feeling alright?"

Imagine him raising his hand to get you to quit fussing over him. He takes off his glove (maybe with his teeth, you decide.) and places his tender, calloused hand on your forehead.

"mmm... a little warm, luv. How long you've been feeling like this?"

You initially brush it off as just a regular old seasonal bug. But imagine your surprise when Simon stops you mid sentence. He gazes down at you with such an unmoving, piercing gaze-

"Getting sick on me, huh? Can't have that. Not on my few days off now."

Don't even think about apologizing for being sick because this man already knows you will.

"Now..." His deep voice, cadenced with that smoldering Manchester accent. "I think you've fussed over me quite enough tonight... How's about daddy fusses over you for a change?"

Imagine this man is slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to get you to rest on the couch.

He's already pulling out the extra cushions so you can law flat on your back in the living room.

Imagine it being pretty obvious from the start that he's not exactly used to being a caretaker. His comforts are gruff, awkward and somewhat commanding.

"Now I ain't going anywhere till you drink this whole thing, you hear?"

Though quickly, he leans into it.

"See? this what happens when you look after yourself, luv."

He's so smug. He's using the things you'd tell him all the time when he comes home from work exhausted or burnt out, whenever you take care of him like the loving, devoted housewife you are.

Now, it's simply Simon's turn to be the loving, devoted househusband.

It feels weird on him at first, but he starts to have fun with it

Imagine this time, he's running you a nice, warm bath to soak in.

"It'll help your muscles..." He croons into your ear, as that is what you told him every time you ran baths for him, making you roll your eyes. "And... I guess clear up your sinuses, or something..."

Honestly doesn't care about catching what you caught, he's more than happy to hold you if you want him to, when you get lonely all snuggled up on the couch.

perhaps, if you ask him nicely, Simon will carry you around the house while he does chores or work so you won't get lonely. ❤️

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

18+

Okay but Simon and how big he is? And how heavy he is? HHHNNNGGGG

Drabble. Daddy kink, size kink, mean Simon.

Imagine. Being shoved onto the bed, clothes thrown to the other side of the room, forced onto your stomach, arms pinned below you. Jesus CHRIST. Simon straddling your waist from behind, grasping his cock in one hand, using the other to hold your back down. Moving to lay down onto you, arm braced next your head, using the other to hold his cock as he slowly push into you, giving a low groan in your ear. You whimper at the stretch, we all know he's slinging a fucking ho-

anyways. Whimpering earns you a harsh slap to your hip

"Shut up, 'member? Yer the one who fuckin asked for this" He growls, giving a harsh thrust to extenuate his words. He starts fast, practically humping you considering the position you're in.

"Fuck, just take it. Don't make a fuckin sound, I've heard enough"

You nod embarrassingly fast, too overwhelmed to respond as his cock drags through your gummy walls. His weight causes your hips to be flushed to the bed, clit rolling against the mattress. He takes his hand to hold your neck to the bed. Your walls tighten around his, your orgasm getting closer and closer. It feels so heavy, all the pressure to your clit causing your walls to grip his cock like a vice.

"Fuck, sweetheart. So fucking tight. You gonna cum? You better fuckin cum. Don't be ungrateful, yeah?" He chastises.

"Please I needa cum. Daddy please, I can't hold it" You whine, voice high pitched, gasping, a silent prayer that he won't withhold your orgasm.

"Then fuckin do it. Make a fuckin mess, don't waste what I've given you" He demands, trying to hide the fact that he's just as close to finishing as you are. The cry that rips from your throat as you cum, almost sounding like a sob, causes him to groan, dumping every drop he can't into you sweet, warm walls.

"Fuckin hell" He drawls out, pressing into you so hard it makes you whimper. He slumps against you as the high fades away, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

"Did so good f'r me, love. Proud of ya"

[ghostssweetgirl]

Got the fluffiest idea for you….

Fem Reader x Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley,

Simons still in full gear after the most tiring and bloodiest mission ever, reader helps him take it all off, making sure the mask+ skull comes of last.

When it does they make him sit down at the end of his bed, whilst their sat on his lap, placing kisses anywhere they can fit, takes off the skull first and smirks when they see more of his beautiful eyes muttering a “there he is” before placing the skull somewhere whilst Simon had his hands securely on their waist whilst their putting the skull down somewhere.

Reader turns back to him, seeing him already looking at them, offers to wipe his black paint off but he doesn’t want to let them go, so they place a kiss on the bridge of his nose like close to where his brows meet.

Before reader’s hand go to the balaclava slowly pulling it up and kissing every part of skin they reveal.

Long story short this fluff will end in a soft and sensual makeout that turns smutty 👀

*rubs my evil little hands together* oh, this will be GOOD 😏hehe. Sorry it took a minute to finish, I've been working :/

Fem Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

CW: P in V sex, Oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), Soft Dom Simon, Size Kink if you squint, if I missed any let me know.

After a mission so excruciatingly long and bloody, it was only necessary Simon get some much-needed rest. You've been lonely at base for a couple months, impatiently waiting for his text message that he was on the way. Today was finally that day, you had shot up out of your seat and made him some food to come back to if he chose to eat, a change of clothes, and a made bed. And of course, you didn't forget a warm cloth to help him remove his eye paint.

You nearly started shaking once you heard his heavy footsteps approaching his door, but you held your composure, wanting to help him relax. He sighs, shoulders slumped as he makes his way through the door. He meets your eyes with his exhausted ones.

"Hey, baby," you cooed, a small smile creeping up your lips as you walk towards him with open arms. He doesn't even bother taking off any of his gear as he embraces you, sighing in relief as he felt your touch for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Hi, luv," he whispered into your shoulder. The only reason you pull back from the hug is because he needed to let go of all this weight he was carrying. You gently tug him in the direction of the bed. He stands before it as you unbuckle his vests, and unbutton his uniform top, along with his holsters, setting it down neatly on his desk. He groaned in relief, rolling his shoulders from being able to move freely once again. You then undo his belt, pulling it out of the hooks as you folded it up neatly as well, setting it down.

You smirk, humming as you finally get to see your Simon. You run your hands along his arms up to his shoulders, resting them there while he looked down at you. You could see the love in his eyes, for the only reason he fights out there is you. Coming back to you was a cherished reward, his prize. You return the loving gaze at him, holding his hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. You then position his hand where he holds your face, and you snuggle into the calloused skin, breathing in his scent.

You hear him stifle a chuckle, muffled by his masks, his thumb rubs softly at your rosy cheek. You giggle as you usher him to sit at the edge of the bed. He grunted as he sat down, his legs man spread as his hands held him up from behind. You shuffle into his lap quietly. His hands then rested at your hips, fingers splayed out along your outer thighs. You lean down and kiss alongside his exposed skin at his collarbone, up to the lower part of his neck, one of his more sensitive spots. "Mm-"

You tilt your head up to look at him before leaning up in such a way you're barely towering over his face. Your thumb hooks under the hard plastic of his outer mask and takes it off. You hold the plastic in your hands for a moment while your met with a better view of his beautiful brown eyes. "There he is," you whispered. You lean over to place the mask down on the nightstand, his grip tightened at your waist, fully submersing you as they wrapped around you entirely. You grabbed the cloth, holding it up with a "Hm?" to see if he wanted help, but he blinked at you slowly, embracing you tighter. You rest your forehead against his, placing a soft peck at the bridge of his nose.

You cup his jaw with both hands, thumbs ready to slide under the fabric of the mask to reveal his gorgeous face. He looks up at you, not breaking eye contact. Your heartbeat slams against your rib cage as he allows you to remove it. You dip down, kissing eagerly along his jawline, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth as you lift the mask higher and higher. You feel the heat rise out of his cheeks as your sweet little lips pepper kisses along his stubble. You kiss along his temple, and your ears are met with his heavy breathing. He returns the kisses best he can, kissing at your cheek and jaw as you kiss all over his face. You giggle as he playfully removes you away from kissing his forehead, planting his plush lips against yours hungrily. Devouring you as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, seeking entrance. Your tongues danced together, his winning dominance before he sucked on it with fervor, his hands coming around and digging into your waist.

You swallowed his moans before he pulled away, a wet string of saliva still connecting you. He grunts as he pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive spot on your neck, reveling in the sweet moans he elicited from your mouth before trailing down between your breasts, kissing at what threatened to spill out of the cups of your bra. It wasn't too long before he had gathered up the energy and switched positions. You lay beneath him as he ground himself into you. You felt his prominent hardon against your clothed heat and whimpered into his mouth. He moaned, pulling away from the kiss only to strip you of your trousers along with your underwear.

"So fuckin' pretty, missed you s'much, baby," he purred, his hands ran along your body. You reached behind yourself and undid your bra, his body visibly reacted to your breasts bouncing in place before he grabbed a handful of them, leaning down to suck at them, swirl his tongue around the hardened buds as you arched your back, grabbing a handful of his hair as he pleased you.

"Fuck, Si, I missed you too, oh!" you wailed as his teeth clamped down harshly before soothing the pain with a wet kiss. His kisses trailed down the delicate skin of your tummy, biting at your pudge before placing greedy kisses at your inner thighs.

His hands hold you by your waist as he puts your legs over his shoulders, his head diving down to slowly lick around your labia, nipping at your mound before spitting on your cunt, his tongue quick to work it around your entire core. Your strained moans egged him on as he rounded his lips against your clit, sucking roughly as your body jolted, your hands came down almost trying to push him away from the overstimulation.

His arms now heavily rest on your lower belly as he pushes himself deeper into you, his nose stuffed into you as his tongue worked its magic, coaxing your first orgasm out of you.

"Simon! I-fuck-can't... gonna cum, yes~" your mouth rounded as electricity ran its course up your spine as your arousal gushed out of you, coating Simon's face with a translucent sheen, and he was proud of it.

"Good girl," he praised, a devilish smirk plastered across his face.

He sat back on his haunches, excitedly undoing his trousers, freeing himself of his aching cock. His other hand toyed with your pussy, his middle finger teasing your entrance as he pushed into you, moaning at the way it wrapped around just one finger.

He then positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing his length against you, gathering slick as he pushed the head of his cock inside of you, cherishing the way you squirmed underneath him.

Your brows furrowed, tears welling in your eyes as you looked up at him, biting your lip from the stretch.

"Almost there, babe," he lied, he groaned as he looked down, seeing he was only halfway inside of you. One harsh thrust, and he was buried to the hilt. He buried his face in your neck, enjoying the melodies of your sweet moans in his ear as you grasped his shoulders like a vice. "That's it, sweet girl."

"That's... so good, Simon," you panted, bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts. Slow, yet dominant. His tip kissing your cervix, you could feel every vein, every ridge, every twitch as he pulled in and out of you.

Your face scrunched up in pleasure as he hit that spongy spot, the one that had you seeing stars. Your nails left crescent moon shaped indents in his toned skin as you felt yourself coming undone, clenching impossibly tighter around him.

"Fu-ck, can't last much longer, sweetheart," he whimpered. "Feels... s'good, fuck-in' hell."

You couldn't last either, not like this. His pace fastened as you both moaned heavily into each others ears, your back arching as your euphoria was taking over you. He moaned through his gritted teeth, his body almost shaking as you gripped so tight he could barely thrust.

He shot his cum into you with one last, rough, deep thrust. He held himself up as he caught his breath, taking one last look upon your beautiful, delicate body glistening with sweat. He fucked his cum into you with a few more thrusts before pulling out, laying beside you as you came back to reality.

You turn to your side, and lay your head on his shoulder, resting your eyes. He sighs with a content smile, resting his head on yours.

"I love you," you whispered sleepily.

"I love you, too..." he reciprocated. "Missed you, you know."

"Could tell," you laughed.

--

A/N - Once again writing while falling asleep xD hope this was good, though! <3 thank you for the request

[k4marina]

simon“ghost”riley x fem!reader

warnings: none, spelling/grammer possibly

—

“you should wear a suit more often, you look nice.”

your freshly manicured hand held the wine glass up to your lips. the expensive red wine had a rich scent. the bartender had something about it being made in the 1920s, but you didn’t pay much attention and focused on how your lieutenant looked tonight.

simon wore a nicely fitted three piece suit. it was black with thin white stripes coming down vertically. he wore a off white, almost light blue dress shirt and a black tie.

he had forgone his signature mask seeing that it didn’t fit the mood for tonight. his clean shaven face and sharp jawline was on display for everyone. a few women had already tried to flirt with him when he had gone up to the bar.

he reminded you of those models in those magazines you got sent in the mail. except, simon looked way better than them.

he eyes mirrored yours, swirling with mischief. “don’t start what you can’t finish, love.” he adjusted his posture, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs open.

fucking prick.

“whatever do you mean?” you feigned ignorance, batting your lashes at him with doe eyes. if he was going to make you squirm then why couldn’t you do the same to him?

he let out something that sounds like a mix of a grunt and a growl. simons eyes raked over you. you wore a black dress with off the shoulder puff sleeves with a sweetheart neckline. the dress reached floor length, hugging your curves in the right places. your hair was styled nicely to show off your neck and the diamond necklace that dipped low into the valley of your breast.

“my eyes are up here.”

his brown eyes flickered to yours, amused at your confidence. “what? is it wrong for me to look at something i like?”

heat creeped up your neck and to your ears. what a fucking flirt. god, he was so smug which didn’t help make him any less attractive.

“i never said it was wrong to look, just..” your eyes trailed along the ballroom filled with wealthy elites and tycoons all enjoying themselves and the luxuries of their lives. “maybe not in the middle of a packed ballroom.”

his lips pulled back to a smirk. he lifts his glass up to his lips, keeping eye contact and took a sip of his bourbon.

“you suggesting somewhere more private?”

you shrugged, “i’m not opposed to the idea of that.” he leaned over, forearms on the table, mirroring your stance. your faces were just a few inches away. you could smell the bourbon and his cologne on him.

“so what do you say?”

“i say you two need to pipe down.”

you rolled your eyes, “is that so gaz?”

“for the love of christ, stop flirtin’ your gonna make me gag.” your earpiece slightly vibrated as he spoke.

“hello to you too, soap.” you and simon sat back down in your original positions.

“don’t “hello” me while you two eye-fuck each other from across the table-“

“that’s enough, mctavish.” simon grunted.

another voice piped up, “you muppets better start paying attention. you’re on a mission — not a date.”

—

[kiwi-channn]

falling petals

Simon Riley × fem reader (wife)

∆ Simon cheats on reader while being in deployment and confesses to her ∆

(reader referred to as "she-little lady-y/n -pumpkin-dove)

Part2 here

~~~~~~~~~~~🥀🥀🥀~~~~~~~~~~

She was making dinner for her husband... Wearing her apron and focusing to make a perfect meal for her man ... Simon was in a long deployment... She hasn't seen him for six months... It has been so long... She feels so excited that he is finally gonna be home any minute now....

He texted her telling her that he will be back at around 10 pm... And it's 9:30 now... And she prepared the house for his return... Like rearranging the books in the shelves because he likes it to be in an alphabetical order... And she put on his favorite bedsheets on the bed.... And she bought a lot of his favorite black tea.... Just small things he likes...

She also put on his favorite perfume... He always compliments her whenever he smells it on her... And she wore his hoodie... He loves when she wore his clothes... Whenever he sees her wearing his clothes, he won't be able to keep his hands to himself... He will touch her whenever he had the chance...

She blushes as she thinks about all of this... In her own little world... Daydreaming about her man's return...

More time passes ... And she finally hears the keys in the keyhole... And she beams at that familiar sound... And she puts the spatula down on the counter... And fixes her hair quickly... Then she walks to the doorway to welcome him....

"babe.... Welcome back..." Says happily upon seeing him coming through the door... she feels so excited ... Runs and hugs him tight... Squeezing him as strong as she could... And he smiles calmly and hugs her back... As tired as he feels he can never refuse his little wife's hug...

"getting stronger ha?... My little lady" he jokes lightly as he takes off his balaclava and buries his face into her neck...

She chuckles softly.. "how are you?.. you injured?..." Says worryingly...

"no.. iam fine... Look at me... I am back..." Says calmly with his deep harsh voice...

She smiles happily and looks up at him...

"yes.. I am glad you are safe...".. then she pulls his arm... "Come on... Dinner is ready.. and I prepared the shower too.."

"okay... Little lady" teases her as he follows her inside their house...

...................

After dinner and a warm shower... He feels the guilt eating his heart... Making him feel heavy ... He wanted to just forget it... Pretend he didn't do anything... But he can't... He tried to act normal ... When he saw her happy warm expression upon seeing him... He felt like he was dying... He feels disgusted at himself...

He looks at his reflection in the mirror and he feels bitter... Will his wife forgive him?... Will this break his house?.. will it end everything they built together in those six years?...

He closes his eyes as he starts shaking from how angry he feels at himself... He feels so mad at his own selfish self... He wasn't using his brain... Not even his heart... It was pure lust and need... He was bent up and lonely... He wanted some warmth... He couldn't resist her seduction... He curses himself... He curses the day he started this sin...

..............

"babe!... You okay in there?... You took so long...."

Her soft voice from the other side of the door snaps him out of his thoughts... And he takes a deep breath to calm himself down..

"iam fine, pumpkin... Gonna be out in a few minutes"

"okay... I will be waiting for you in bed"

She says lastly and she leaves... She heads to the bedroom and tucks herself in bed... As she sighs contently... She will finally beside Simon after those long months...

..............

He comes inside the bedroom... As he is only wearing his robe... And she was reading a novel in bed... And he keeps watching her... And whenever she looks up from her novel.. he will immediately look away... He can't look her in the eyes...

He wears something comfy and he slowly lays beside her in bed... She then closes her novel and puts it on the nightstand beside her... Turning off the light...

Then she gets closer to him and she snuggles into his arms... Her body relaxing in his embrace...

"I really missed you..." She Whispers softly with a relieved huff....

"yeah... Missed you too" answers back in a quiet gentle voice... And he decides not to tell her anything after all... It will break them..."good night... Dove"

...................

Two weeks passed since then.. and she feels a slight change in him... He is gentler.. and he became nicer too... It's not like he wasn't nice... But he became nicer... Buying her lots of gifts and flowers... Flirting with her so often... Complimenting her whenever.. it's a bit too much... And she starts Wondering if something happened in his previous deployment....

"What are you watching?..." She says softly as she approaches him and sits beside him on the sofa ...

He scoffs a bit to make space for her...

"just an old movie..."

"hmm... I see" mumbles quietly...

He feels her thinking about something and he puts his arm around her shoulders...

"spell it out..."

She chuckles a bit as he always understands her without a word...

"I wanted to talk to you about something... Maybe it's me reading so much into it... But I feel like you are hiding something from me..."

He feels panic... His heart falling down in his stomach...

"what?... Why are you saying that?... I can never hide anything from you" says gently as he tries to push this aside...

She stares at him for a few seconds... Then she smiles softly...

"okay... I trust you..."

He hears this and he couldn't hide it anymore... He stays silent for a few minutes... Just looking at her... He sees how much she loves him and trusts him.. and he can't fool her anymore....

"there's is actually something I need to tell you about..." He says so quietly and looks down... Avoiding her eyes ... "It happened when I was in the last deployment..."

She stays quiet as she waits to hear what happened back then....

"I was seeing someone else in the past 4 months..." He admits bluntly... He has always been straightforward....

She freezes... Her heart sinking... And she can't process what she just heard... Nor open her mouth and talk... She just stays silent... Shocked...

"but I cut everything with her... I don't see her anymore.. nor talk to her anymore.. I swear... It's over... It was a big mistake.." he continues quietly... "I got weak...."

"y/n..." He calls her name and looks up at her... And he was surprised by her reaction... She was just looking at him... Tears filling up her eyes...

"I.. iam so sorry... Forgive me.. please... Y/n" says softly as he slowly approaches her and he hugs her tight... He just wanna comfort her right now... He hates seeing her like this.. broken and devestated...

"don't cry..."

[dmitriene]

𝗡𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗬 𝗕𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗬.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛, 𝘗𝘜𝘙𝘌 𝘍𝘐𝘓𝘛𝘏, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘷, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 (𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨), 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘦. ❝𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘❞ 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯, 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘳𝘰𝘵)

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

Halloween night had descended on the base, casting a spooky and mischievous spell on its inhabitants — for most, it was a time to break away from their daily routine, enjoy costumes and laughter, and perhaps even indulge in a whirlwind of nostalgia.

But Simon "Ghost" Riley has always been a mysterious figure, shrouded in darkness and known for his stoic demeanor, never taking part in the festivities, preferring instead to remain in the shadows, observing the world with his watchful eyes.

However, this Halloween was different.

As evening fell, you appeared at the entrance to the living room, your suit was eye catching and captured hearts, Simon's gaze was particularly intense, the light in his eyes betrayed the façade of indifference he usually wore as he watched you walk confidently into the room, a soft the sway of your hips caught the attention of everyone present.

You chose a bunny costume, a delightful combination of playfulness, fluffy bunny ears sat on your head and a round fluffy tail adorned your short pinkish skirt, a cute pinkish corset accentuated your curves, and stockings and heels added a touch of seductiveness to your ensemble.

It was impossible not to notice you, and the comments of your comrades, including the always playful Soap, only added to your attractiveness.

— «Wow, bonnie, you look incredible!» Soap exclaimed, his smile widening as he looked you up and down.

You grinned, playfully twirling around in your bunny costume — «Thank you, Soap, after all, today is Halloween, i thought i would embrace the spirit of this event»

Therefore Simon, who sat quietly with his fellow soldiers, didn't say a word, instead his eyes remained glued to you, his gaze seething with a heat that could melt steel, he wasn't the type to give compliments or make fun, but today everything was different.

As night fell, the atmosphere in the common room became increasingly tense as people mingled, laughter filled the air, and the room was decorated with Halloween decorations.

Some soldiers were struggling to put on their costumes and the variety of characters and creatures was a sight to behold, with a lively dance playlist blasting from a speaker in the corner encouraging people to relax and have fun.

You caught Soap's eye and winked at him playfully before joining a group of friends on the makeshift dance floor, the music was infectious and you swayed to the beat, your bushy tail bouncing with every step.

Laughter erupted as you and your friends tried to teach Ghost how to dance, a rare sight that attracted even more attention.

Ghost reluctantly joined in, his movements were a little stiff but undeniably charming, and as you danced with him, the chemistry between you was palpable.

His gloved hand slid to your waist and pulled you closer, the music, the costumes and the fun of the night seemed to melt the ice around his heart, revealing a man who could be more than just a cold blooded warrior, but someone who could find pleasure in simple pleasure dancing with someone he was deeply drawn to.

As the night passed and the festivities continued, the group decided to take a trip to a local bar that would allow them to mingle with other Halloween revelers.

Simon, still wearing his mask, stood at the counter sipping his drink as you sat down on the stool next to him, your bunny ears brushing against his arm, the sensation sending shivers through him.

— «Having fun?» you asked in a teasing voice.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours through the mask — «I don't really like holidays» he answered in his low, raspy voice.

You chuckled, leaning closer — «That's what makes this Halloween so special, isn't it? A chance to let go, even if only for a short time»

He took a sip of his bourbon, thinking about your words, and something flashed in his eyes — «Maybe»

And so the threshing celebration in the bar gave way to a quieter and more intimate moment, now, in the dimly lit room of your Lieutenant, the energy between you crackled with irresistible force, the smell of alcohol and your mixed perfumes created a dizzying feeling.

As the door closed behind you, Simon wasted no time in pinning you against the wall, his gloved hands wrapped tightly around your waist as his lips found your neck with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

His words sounded like a hot whisper against your skin.

— «You have no idea what you're doing to me» he muttered, his lips tracing a fiery path down your collarbone — «To tease me like that in front of everyone, to show them how you're dressed, those exposed areas of your skin…»

His voice was filled with a mixture of desire and harsh possessiveness, his grip on your hips grew tighter and you couldn't help but whimper, arching into his touch as your hands tried to remove his mask and it fell to the ground, revealing his rough, chiseled face.

His brown eyes, darkened with desire to the point where his pupils matched his irises, glared into yours.

— «Simon» you breathed out his name, your voice laced with longing.

He shudders, capturing your lips with a fiery kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, as if he didn’t have enough, as if you contained all the oxygen he needed.

The chemistry between you and Ghost had been building for a long time, and tonight Halloween had broken down the barriers that separated you completely.

The room seemed to close in around you, and Ghost's gloved hands slid under the fabric of your bunny costume, his touch burning your already hot and bothered skin.

He caressed your curves, his fingers sliding up your bare thighs, and you couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped your lips.

— «Take it easy, Lieutenant» you teased, moaning softly as you exhaled as your eyes filled with a playful glint.

He growled lowly, the sound sent an exciting shiver through your body — «You're playing with fire, love»

But you were ready to light the flame.

With deft fingers you began to unbutton his tactical vest, each one exposing his muscular chest, Ghost's breathing became heavy as you explored his chest with your hands, your nails grazing his skin, stirring up the blood beneath his skin.

With uncontrollable power, he removes your pinkish corset, revealing your breasts in response, which spill out, nipples already hard with anticipation, looking and pleading at him.

The air is filled with desire as he looks at what's in front of him, his gaze burning into your very soul, and you feel a wave of electricity run through your body as his hands slide over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

His strong hands lift up your short pink skirt with a playful bunny tail, exposing the stockings that tightly hug your plush legs, his touch is both possessive and gentle, his fingers touching the delicate fabric of your thong, teasing and arousing you even more.

Simon's strong hands explore the contours of your clothed cunt, the fabric of your thong creating a teasing barrier between his touch and your cunny, he deliberately presses and flicks against your mound, causing a delicious friction that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His voice, deep and seductive, whispers quiet praises into your ear, his words both commanding and adoring — «What a naughty bunny» he whispers, his breath warms your skin — «So wet f'me, such a nice little plaything»

Every touch, every word awakens the desire deep within you, increasing the ache between your legs, the fabric of your thong becoming wet with your arousal, the evidence of your need for him obvious.

And his praises and touches turn into a symphony of pleasure, drowning out any other thoughts except the pure ecstasy he brings to you.

With a knowing smile at your dumb expression, Simon continues to tease you, his finger now lightly pressing against your clothed cunt.

The fabric of your thong offers a tantalizing resistance as he begins to pump his finger slowly and steadily, each movement eliciting a moan of pleasure from your lips and slightly uncomfortable sickness of the fabric against your bothered folds, a testament to the intense sensations coursing through your body.

He watches you intently, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and admiration — «That's it, my love» he whispers in a hoarse voice, his British accent adding an edge to his words — «You're fine, take my touch like a good little whore»

His praises combined with the rhythmic wiggling and pumping of his finger that sends you deeper into a state of bliss, the sensations increasing in intensity, coursing through your body like an electric current, making you crave more of his touch.

Your moans and whimpers fill the room, reflecting the pleasure he easily brings out of you.

His voice, like velvet and bourbon, envelops you, intensifying the ecstasy that permeates every cell of your being, his words ignite your desire, lighting a fire inside you that can only be extinguished by his touch, you completely surrender to his control, getting lost in the sea of ​​pleasure that he delivers.

As he continues to thrust his finger into your clothed cunt, the pressure and friction become overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation, waiting for the release he promises when suddenly your walls clamp around nothing and your body convulses in ecstasy, giving in to the intense relaxation that washes over you.

But before you can catch your breath, strong arms quickly spin you around, pinning you face first against the wall, and the sudden change in position sends a thrill of anticipation through you, your senses heightened by the element of surprise.

Slapping your bare ass firmly, making you mewl pitifully, Ghost asserts his dominance, igniting a fiery mixture of pleasure and desire, the ringing sound resonating in the air, a delicious reminder of the intense pleasure to come.

You feel a wave of flame run through your body, as if every nerve ending is on fire, craving his touch.

His strong hands guide you, pushing your panties to the side, allowing him to quickly unzip his pants, and the cool air touches your heated body only for a couple of seconds as the tip of his girthy cock rests at your entrance, his arm squeezing your round fluffy tail.

Slowly, he begins to thrust into you, giving you time to adjust to the girth and length of his cock, and you can feel the tension, the delicious stretch as he fills you completely.

The sensations overwhelm your senses, a mixture of pleasure and slight discomfort causing your breathing to hitch, the firm grip on your hips holding you steady, allowing you to feel the fullness of his cock as he slowly thrusts into you in a quick rhythm, each movement plunging you further into a state of bliss.

You can't help but moan, the sound muffled by the wall pressing against your cheek, the pleasure intensifying with each thrust, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out, creating a symphony of lewd squelching as your body molds to accomodate his shape, the connection between you growing stronger with each thrust and roll of the hips.

In this moment, you are completely his, your body and desires naked in front of him, the room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the taste of leather and the quiet growls of pleasure that escapes his lips.

With each slow, deliberate thrust, Ghost's cock slides in and out of you, filling you completely, the rhythm of his movements a rushing dance of desire and vulgarity, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge, his hips slapping against your ass, making your tail jiggle.

His pace gradually quickens, the intensity increasing as he seeks to push you to new heights of ecstasy as he penetrates deeper, his cock brushing against your cervix, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, pathetic mewls fall from your lips following your rolling eyes.

The sensation is both intense and electrifying, making you gasp and moan with every movement, the connection between you becomes stronger, it is a raw and primal connection that goes beyond the physical.

His strong hands grip your hips, holding you close to him, ensuring that every thrust is felt to the fullest, the possessiveness in his touch only intensifies the pleasure, the feeling of being wanted and desired igniting a fire inside of you, and you can feel the strength of his grip — his fingers leaving a mark on your skin as he takes full control.

As the pace quickens, the room fills with the sounds of your pleasure, the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you mixing with your moans and sighs, the slaps of skin against skin as the intensity of the moment becoming almost overwhelming.

You give in completely to the pleasure, your body eagerly responding to his every move, the world around you disappears and all that matters is the intoxicating feeling of his cock inside you, pushing you to the brink of release as he continues to fuck you with a primal hunger.

With a firm slap to your ass, Ghost's dominance is reaffirmed once again, the burn of his hand on your skin sending a wave of pleasure through you, making your walls tremble and clench around his cock, and that tight sensation only intensifies his desire, fueling his already desperate need for release.

His thrusts become increasingly erratic, his movements losing their subtlety as he gets closer to his own release, he feels the tension building, the tension in his balls signaling an approaching climax, and with each thrust he moves closer to the edge, his body and mind consumed by all consuming pleasure.

And finally, with a low guttural moan, he reaches his peak, his body tensing, his grip on your hips tightening as he spills his hot seed deep inside you, the feeling of his release combined with the continued movement of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body, pushing you to the limit too.

As your body succumbs to the overwhelming waves of pleasure, your pussy clenches and flutters around Ghost's cock, the sensation is exquisite, your walls squeezing him tightly as your orgasm washes over you, and in the midst of your climax he slips out of you, his cock coated in a mixture of your juices and his own cum.

He watches intently as his cum leaks out of your cunt in thick globes, dripping down your quivering thighs, the sight of his essence mixing with yours a visual testament to the passion you both shared.

The image captivates him, your legs are trembling and your plush ass, red from the spanks, sticks out, letting your round tail quiver slightly as your ears slide from your hair to the floor, a proud and satisfied smile forming on his lips as he considers the implications of your shared pleasure.

With a gentle touch, Simon grabs your waist, holding you there as you continue to tremble from your orgasm, his praise flowing freely from his lips in a rough timbre, testament to the pleasure you've given him — «Such a good bunny, good girl» words of admiration and adoration wash through you with a wave of warmth, knowing that your pleasure was his ultimate goal.

To keep things discreet and intimate, he reaches for your panties and delicately pulls them back over you, the wet cotton fabric pressing against your sensitive flesh, ensuring every drop of his cum stays securely inside, nothing goes to waste.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @cehrie, @kennedyswhore dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist

[saturncodedstarlette]

Philip Graves : If I ask you what’d you do yesterday—

Philip Graves : —and you tell me “oh just hung out with the wife and kids”

Philip Graves : we’ve wasted our time.

Ghost : Uh huh? 🤨

Philip Graves : that’s the answer you give to people you don’t know.

Philip Graves : “ah you know just hung out with the kids and the old ball and chain” 🤷‍♂️

Ghost : I don’t refer my wife as ball and chain—

Ghost : She doesn’t weigh me down, she picks me up bitch

Ghost : She’s the wind beneath my wings

Captain Price, holding back ghost from ruining Graves’s face :

Ghost, snarls : Don’t you ever fucking say that again, you bitchless suckup

[lilywastaken]

⇝ shadow .

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

PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.

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

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

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

WORD COUNT: 10k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.

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

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

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

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

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

It was like a slap in the face.

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

"You-"

"Did you keep it?"

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

"It? Wh-"

"Him. Our son."

Our son.

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

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

"I was gone."

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

"You don't understa-"

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

The door slammed shut.

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

You'd closed the door on him.

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

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

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

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

You were letting him in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn't feel right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are y-"

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

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

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

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

Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.

"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."

He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.

The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.

"...so? Are you going to explain?"

Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.

But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.

He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.

"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"

"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."

His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?

"What do you work in?"

"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."

Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.

Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.

And it was terrifying.

You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.

You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.

"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.

"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."

You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.

"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.

"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.

"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"

You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.

"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.

"That doesn't explain why you were gone."

Silence.

The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.

"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.

"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."

"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.

"I'm not raising my vo-"

A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.

You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.

"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."

Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."

His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.

Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.

"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.

"I want to see him."

You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.

"You haven't even told me his name."

Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.

"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.

He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.

"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.

"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.

"You still don't believe me, d'you?"

A beat.

The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.

You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.

"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.

Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.

And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.

And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.

"They're real. I promise."

His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.

"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.

A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.

Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.

God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.

His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.

"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."

And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.

And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.

"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.

Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.

"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."

Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.

"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.

"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.

Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.

For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.

Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.

Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.

So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).

"How d'you pay for all this?"

"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"

"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"

You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.

"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."

He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.

He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.

"Let me help you."

You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.

"Help me?"

Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.

But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.

"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."

Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.

You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.

"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."

He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.

"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"

Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.

"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."

God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.

So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.

And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.

"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.

"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"

"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."

Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.

"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.

Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.

"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.

"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.

"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."

"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.

Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.

"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.

"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"

"It's fine. I've slept worse."

He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.

That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.

Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.

And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.

And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.

Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.

Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.

But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.

"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.

You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.

This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.

He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.

"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."

Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.

Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.

A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.

A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.

"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"

As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.

"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"

He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.

But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.

Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.

He could… he could really get used to this.

Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.

He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.

"-mon."

"Simon!"

The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.

He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.

Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?

"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"

"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."

"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.

"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."

His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.

"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."

"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."

He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.

Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.

"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."

I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.

"Alright."

You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.

Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.

After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."

He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.

"O-okay."

He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."

You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.

You hoped it was the latter.

"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."

The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.

Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.

"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.

"Right, I'm s-"

"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."

"Well you can shut him up-"

"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"

"N-no, sir."

"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"

"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."

"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.

"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."

Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.

He'd be back. He promised.

TAGLIST: @selfassassin @ess-perspective-blog @crazyfandomist @webreathfandoms @warners-wife @prodyng @gaycrystalbitch @warrior-of-justice @uhhely @mentallynot-here @jordanwalkersworld @skepticalleo @bratsukisworld @screamingoverfiction @comedinewithmeyeh @gojosbucket @mikasakuchiki @jonhswife @tea-effect @thelittlejinx @cafesho @daddylorianisastateofmind @63sucker (if your name is in italics it means I couldn't tag you!)

[random-thot-generator]

A Dark & Stormy Night

Simon x F!Reader

Rating: M for Mature - 18+ ONLY! Minors DNI

Summary: Simon awakens during a late-night storm and creates a storm of his own as he comes to terms with his feelings. Written from Simon’s POV.

Tags: Explicit sexual content, PinV, Mild Somno, Mild choking, Mild D/s dynamic, Soft Dom!Simon, explicit language, cursing, fluffy finish, no Y/N (please let me know if I’ve forgotten any tags.)

Word Count: 2191

_____♡_____  

It's just after four in the morning when the storm rolls in. Rain begins to patter outside of the flat and Simon opens his eyes in time to catch the first flash of lightning. The room he is lying in is familiar, though not his own. It's hers. Her room, her flat. He's just visiting.

But he visits a lot.

Another flash of lightning and the room is lit up as bright as day. He can see as well as feel her now, pressed up against him, the skin of her back sticking to his side. She's got her head pillowed in the crook of his shoulder, face smushed against his bicep, her warm breath puffing across his skin.

The room goes dark.

He shifts beneath the covers, old cotton sheets worn smooth as silk sliding over his legs and torso. The hint of fabric softener and the more pungent aroma of stale sex catches in his nose and, fuck― he really likes that.

He lowers his nose to the crown of her head and breathes in. The unique smell of their sex mixed with the last faint notes of her perfume makes him hard again, memories from earlier that night playing out in his mind. He can never seem to get enough of her anymore, like he's an addict and her cunt is the drug.

But it's not just her cunt, is it? It's her. He always wants her, and only her. He can't even deny it to himself any longer. He's hooked.

She was all he could think about on the flight home from his last mission, and when he got back, he went straight to her place this time. Didn't even bother to go by his own flat, first. As soon as the plane touched down, he was rushing towards the barracks, where he dropped his gear and forced himself to take a shower. Then out of the gate he went, with only one destination in mind.

Her place. He wanted to be with her. It was all he ever wanted these days.

It should bother him more, giving in to this hold she has over him, but he can't seem to bring himself to care. Not when she's this close, so warm and inviting. And so sweet.

His hands begin to move of their own accord, one cupping her breast while the other skims down and over her thigh. His fingers dip between her legs and he sighs out a breath as he finds the wet heat of her cunt. His body shifts behind her, curling his large frame around her soft warmth.

Fuck, she always feels so good. He dreams of her―her skin, her mouth, her cunt, when he's deployed and she's thousands of miles away. She haunts his sleep, the sound of her soft voice still in his ears when he blinks his eyes open, and he's angry with her when he wakes. He's pissed at her for leaving him so frustrated and throbbing with need, for making him yearn for her like he's some lovesick little tosser. For missing her.

Yet he can't stay mad, not at her. She's always so good to him, so good for him, always takes him so well, begs for him to touch her, kiss her, fuck her, and he's more than happy to oblige her every whim. She drives him crazy, makes him lose control, and fuck him, but he can't deny that he loves it, that he loves―

She's begun to stir, his calloused hands touching her most tender parts drawing her from her sleep. She sighs out a moan, her hips rolling down on his fingers before she's even fully awake. God, the sounds she makes. It sets his blood pumping fast and hot through his veins, stokes the fire already burning in his gut into a roaring blaze. He pulls her closer and places kisses along her shoulder, soft and slow and wet. His teeth rake along her neck, and he smirks when goosebumps erupt over her skin.

"Can ya take more, sweetheart?" he whispers at her ear, fingers gently stroking through her folds.

Rolling her hips against him, she breathes out, "Want you, Si."

Simon hums in satisfaction, his hands moving with more purpose now. She whimpers as his thumb tweaks her sensitive nipple and presses her ass back into his rutting hips, gasping at the feel of his leaking cock sliding along the cleft of it.

"Simon..." she sighs, and the sound of his name being spoken in that voice, the one he hears in his dreams, drives him a little insane.

She whines as his fingers swirl around her clit and arches into his touch. "...need you. Please, Si," she begs, as if he might deny her. As if he could ever deny her anything.

He drags his nose up the side of her throat, leaves yet another mark, another claim, as she writhes against him. Her small hand flutters up and lands on the nape of his neck, buries itself in his hair, pressing him even closer, inviting him to devour her whole.

"Always so ready for me," he mumbles as his fingers glide down and push past her entrance. He doesn't stop, easing his fingers in until he's knuckles-deep and she's clenching around him. She whines, grinding down on his hand, desperate for friction. "Sh-shh... It's alright, luv." he murmurs lowly. "I've got you. I'll take care of you."

And he will. He will always take care of her because she's his now. He knows it, and so does she. There's been no declaration of feelings, no heartfelt confessions, but he saw it in her eyes when he pushed inside her last night, neither of them looking away or closing their eyes to hide it this time. It was a mutual surrender, both of them tired of fighting it. There was no denying what was between them, not when it felt so right.

As he pumps his hand and crooks his fingers to reach that spot that curls her toes and makes her shake, his other hand snakes to her throat. He pulls her head back and presses his lips to her temple, his hand on her throat holding her in place as he grinds the heel of his palm onto her clit. She keens out a whine that has him groaning, an acute pulse of arousal tightening his groin and making his balls ache. His cock weeps in response, his rutting hips smearing his seed between her plush cheeks. He could cum like this easily, but he won't. Not this way.

His lips on her fevered skin and his hand working between her slicked thighs, he brings her to her peak quickly, listening to her hoarse cries as she trembles in his arms.

"Tha's it, lovie. Jus' like that," he croons into her ear, his words slurring, fingers still thrusting to drag out every second of her climax.

Her body is drawn taut as a bow string, little hitches and starts making her twitch as each spasm passes through her in waves. He could feel her orgasm dripping down his fingers and he purrs in smug pride.

"Always such a good, good girl for me," he moans, relishing how tight she squeezes his fingers when he praises her. His cock twitches in anticipation and he knows he can't wait any longer.

When she finally goes limp, he gently pulls his fingers from her cunt. He wraps his slick-smeared hand around the back of her knee, lifting her leg up and back to drape it over his thigh. His hand shoves between their bodies to fumble with his cock as he pants out in a shaking whisper against her ear, "Want ya so bad, luv. Can ya take me?"

She can only manage a whimper as she nods. With a wrecked groan, his cock slides between her thighs, the head bumping against her clit as he angles it to run through her slick folds, and her body jolts in his grasp.

His fingers grip her throat just a fraction tighter. "You want it?" he mutters, his voice full of gravel & quaking with lust. "Want my cock, huh?" He lines himself up with her entrance before clutching her hip. Again, she gives him a desperate whine and a quick bob of the head. It's all he needs before he's pushing into her, a guttural sound escaping his throat as he chokes out, "Fuckin' hell, luv.  Yer cunt's so―nngh!... So bloody tight!"

He feels unhinged, wants to pound into her, just ruin her, but it feels so fucking good he can't rush it, so instead he strokes into her with slow, deep thrusts, loving the drag on his cock when he pulls back. Her cunt is gripping him so tight, walls pulsing and clamping down to draw him in deeper, and he swears if he could, he would crawl inside and live there. It's as close to heaven as he'll ever get.

He can already feel his orgasm building, abs tightening as his breaths puff out against the side of her neck. Want to feel her cum, he thinks, his hand leaving her hip to seek out and destroy her clit. His fingers rub furious circles into it, the motions desperate and frantic. More than once he grazes his own cock with his fingertips as it glides in and out of her channel. He can feel the way she's stretched around him, and it makes him feel feral.

"Feel that?" he husks, splitting his fingers around her filled entrance. "Fit me like a bloody glove. Made fer me, luv. Only me. Ain't that right? Hmm?"

"Yes..." she pants out, "...o-only you, Si. Just for you!"

Lightning flickers like a strobe, the effect surreal as he glances down to see she's looking up at him, the white flashes of light glinting in her eyes like sparks. Her nails dig into his scalp as she fists his hair in her grip & molten heat surges through his groin.

"Fuck― fuck!" He can't hold out when she's looking at him that way. "Cum for me, luv," he mutters, sounding desperate. "I can't―!"

And like she was simply waiting for his command, her cunt clamps down and he can feel her gush around his cock. "Ah, bloody hell! I-I'm cum―!"

The rest of his words are choked off as his climax hits him like the concussion of a bomb, bowing his back as every muscle seizes up in his body. His cum pulses out of his cock again and again and again, until his seed has filled her up to overflowing, until it's dripping down his balls and onto her thigh.

Thunder booms at that same moment and the windows rattle in their frames, the deep reverberations strong enough to be felt through the bed. Rain lashes at the windows, coming down so hard and fast the noise blurs into a hissing cacophony.

It's like he's caught up in a religious experience, ancient and primal, the raging storm outside invoked by the carnal ritual they are performing within. Simon can feel it deep in his bones, deep in his gut, and he knows he'll never feel like this with anyone else. Only she makes him feel this way.

Like a fucking god.

The room is filled with the white noise of pounding rain and their panting breaths. They're both fucked out and now limp with euphoria, neither speaking as they come down from their mutual highs. His hand finds hers in the dark and she clings to it. Eventually, she turns in his arms, pressing her forehead into the sweat-damp hair on his chest, her arm sliding over his waist.

"Ya alright, luv?" he rumbles out, stroking his hands up and down her back.

She hums a contented sound, placing a lingering kiss on his chest. Lightning strobes and thunder rolls as the rain continues to pour down outside. She burrows deeper into his embrace, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck, lips pressing a kiss on his pulse point.

Simon knows they will need to talk- about this, about them, but right now he's content to just lie with her in this limbo state, between the before and the after. He will tell her in the morning, suck it up and say what he really feels and, maybe, hopefully, she'll say it back.

He finally rises to get a wet cloth and cleans them both up before tossing it away into the darkness. Sliding back between the sheets, he pulls her sleepy form into his embrace and sighs, listening to the rain and the receding thunder, relaxed and at peace. He's already edging towards sleep himself when he hears her mumble something against his throat.

"Hm? Wha's that, luv?"

She sighs as she drifts off, repeating her words before sleep takes her completely. "Love you, Si. Always."

And Simon feels his heart swell as his body melts into hers, the words rolling off his tongue like he's been saying them to her his whole life.

"Love you, too, sweetheart. Always."

_____♡_____  

[mockerycrow]

i’m not the original annon that requested 2 & 3 with simon, but now that you put that thought in my head… can we get it with the roles reversed? 👀

SMUT PROMPTS: Ghost Drabble; “Putting A Hand Over HIS Mouth To Be Quiet” + “Overstimulating HIM Until He’s Begging” (Fem!Reader) - NSFW UNDER THE CUT

“Ohh, fuck!- Sweetheart, p.. please—“ He gasps as you roll your hips, taking Ghost’s spent cock into your pussy once more. He weakly pushes at your hips, exclaiming, “I-I already came twice, love—fuck, please—“ You huff and you grab his jaw in such a way where your hand is covering his mouth, causing him to go wide eyed and look at you. You bite back a moan as you ride home and you say quietly with a threatening tone, “You’re being so damn loud, we’ll get caught. You can take it, big boy.”

You watch his eyes roll back into his head and feel his hips jump—either away or towards your hungry pussy, he doesn’t know, it hurts and feels so good at the same time. You laugh at his efforts, your voice breathy as you use him as a dildo, getting his dick as deep as you can manage so you can have him hit the right spots over and over. Although Ghost seemed apprehensive about this, you two had talked about it before—you can use each other to your hearts content if you need to. You can feel the way his two previous loads are dripping down his cock, all the while you fuck it back into yourself by dropping down on his dick.

You see Ghost’s eyes well up with tears as his hips begin to earnestly jump up against yours, like he’s chasing his own high again. He groans against your hand as he grabs your hips and fucks you back down onto his cock, and you giggle—which melts into a moan. “So desperate, so noisy…” Your eyebrows furrow a bit as you feel the rubber band in your stomach begin to tighten, and you have to cover his mouth and put a hand on his body to balance yourself, so you grab one of Ghost’s hands and guide it to your clit, which sets him off and he moans, eye shutting as he cums hard.

[spectrerie]

Would you let me go? Even if I asked you to

Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader.

Requested by my awesome mutual @lululandd

Part One. ~ 3k words.

Simon meets a young woman on a night out with the 141 ft. Los Vaqueros. He's drawn to protect her and when she needs him, he makes a promise he's not sure he can keep. With one war over another begins, and his task: Protecting you, no matter what it takes.

POV alternates between Ghost and the Reader.

this is a stalker fic where Ghost watches over the reader and discovers that he's not the only one doing so. Eliminate the hostiles and fulfil his mission. Easy. Right?

TW: Stalking, kidnapping, murder, extreme depictions of violence, swearing and foul language, threats, minor character death. Possessive!Simon, Toxic!Simon

Additional parts to come, with additional warnings. This is just a general TW for the whole fic

“I swear lads, I swear I thought I was gonna die of laughter if he didn’t kill me first!” Drinks sloshed and laughter rang out around them as Gaz recounted some sage, albeit dodgy, advice Price had given him. 

A night out with the 141 and two of the friends they’d made along the way was long overdue. The weeks of blood, sweat, and smoke had taken its toll on them. Killing came with a a cost, and they paid it gladly. For their countries, for the world. For themselves. 

Life in battle was easy, everything came down to friend or foe. Friends were hard to make, and the latter easy to dispose of. Usually. Killing could be easy, if they let it be. If that made them bad people so be it, they’d be bad to keep the balance. But not tonight. 

Tonight donned in their civvies they occupied a corner booth of a hole in the wall pub, a town away from the barracks. It was their last night all together, one of their first nights all safe. Before the Cowboys went back home to fight another day. Before Soap went back to Scotland to see the country he missed dearly. And before Ghost and Gaz went back to their corners of England. Before Ghost crawled back to the barracks, to the only life he knew how to live. 

“Ah, will ye fuck off, ‘e didnae say that!  ‘ E’s been up te his oxters in work.” Soap barked out as he clutched his sides. The group waited with baited breath, stifling peals of laughter as they waited for Ghost’s response. 

“Christ, Johnny. In English?” The stoic blonde said from across the table. 

“Eh? D’ye no ken what I’m sayin’ L.t? That was bloody English.”  Soap whined back as he closed his bleary eyes. The first of the laughs began to eek out. When he opened them the blonde Lieutenant was staring back at him with his dark eyes. “Gaun'ae no dae that? That was bloody English! Fine. ’Oh emm gee, he did not say that. He has like totally been up to his armpits with work!’ THERE!” Johnny shouted back in a mock American accent. 

The group fell about themselves with laughter as Simon shook his head slowly. 

They needed this. This release. There’d been other nights for tears, for recalling the horrors they’d seen over the months, but not tonight. Tonight was only for good things. For accents coming out  too thick, for drinking too much knowing you were in safe company, for friendship. 

Ghost stood and pulled his dark cap lower, casting a shadow over his face. “Same orders, yeah?” He asked the group and he walked out of the booth. He had to good sense to leave the mask at home. Or so they thought. He had it folded in the inner pocket of his jacket, his armour against the world.

“I’ll have a Dom Perignon if you’re buying, whole bottle please.” Called out Gaz as Alejandro poured him another shot of earthy Tequila. 

Ghost shook his head and huffed out a low laugh, chasing tequila with pints. They were clever chaps, weren’t they?

As he made his way across the bar, the din of dozens of conversations hushed as he walked by, the packed room parting in his wake. He cut an intimidating figure. Six foot two, almost six four in this heavy dark boots. A myriad of faded scars dusting his jaw and hands, the only part of him easily visible. The brightest thing about him was his blonde hair, neatly tucked away from prying eyes. He didn’t need the mask tonight. His crew knew his face, and no one in the pub could bring themselves to look at it, averting their eyes sheepishly as he moved by them. At most people glance up at the top of his head in awe, surveying the space he took up with his sheer bulk and height. He didn’t need to be Ghost. Not here.

He placed a hand on the bar and slid in, eliciting no complaints from the other patrons. What could they have said? Move? That’d be the day. 

— — — 

“So you’re not going crack a smile, baby? I thought that was a pretty good one.” The drunken lout beside you laughed in your face, the smell of hops, stale cigarettes and chips blowing at you. 

“Ha. Ha.” You said dryly. Turning your attention to the bartender trying to get drinks for you and your ever-late friend. You felt an overly warm, sticky hand slide around your waist, tugging you back towards him. “Alright then, you tell me a joke, if I’m no good at ‘em.” 

“I’d rather not, sorry.” You said with a terse smile, eyes drifting back to the bartender hoping to catch his eye. 

“Okay, okay, let’s play a new game if you don’t like jokes. If I guess your name you buy me a pint,  but if you tell me now I’ll buy you one.” He winked at you, or rather he tried to. 

“How about I tell you and you go away?” You asked, before barking out your name and turning away, though his grip on you tightened.  

“Oi, mate. Two Coronas, three lagers. Whatever’s easy, yeah?” 

A low voice beside you called out to the bartender you’d been playing a one sided game of cat and mouse with. 

“Is Carling alright?” The bartender’s attention went straight to the owner of the voice beside you, as did yours. You were about to tell him you’d been here first, as you looked up and you were met  not with a face, but the middle of a wide set of shoulders. Was this a man or a mountain?

“Excuse m-“ craning your neck up you caught a glimpse of a face and your protests died on your lips. The giant was handsome. In a rugged, cold sort of way, but handsome nonetheless. He cast a glance in your direction that turned cold quickly. All the heat of your body pooled at the bottom of your stomach, you didn’t even notice the arm around your waist had dropped immediately. 

“Hmm?” He grumbled in way of a prompt. 

“Uhh, I was— I was just going to say I’ve been waiting.” 

“I don’t know you.” He said curtly. A normal person would ask ‘do I know you?’, or rather a normal person would understand basic bar etiquette. Though it seemed this man had no need for niceties. 

“Well no, I was waiting to order my drinks. Didn’t anyone teach you any manners?” You said, letting go of your decorum. Two could play at this game. You’d had enough of men thinking they could have whatever they wanted.

“What?” He said, turning away from the bartender. Your bravado dissipated as quickly as you’d found it. You felt your eyes grow round in shock and a heat creep up your neck to your face. 

“I just-“ your sentence was cut off by a low laugh from him as he said “What, as in what were you going to order?” 

“Ah… just two ciders, sorry.” Fuck. Where had all your confidence gone, he wasn’t going to hit you for teaching him manners. 

His gaze grew cold again, well maybe he was. 

“You let your girl do all the talking, do you?” He said, seemingly to the man who’d been pestering you for the better part of your evening thus far. 

“I’m not his anything.” You said before the man behind you had a chance to speak. 

The handsome one turned away from you again, “And two ciders, cheers.” He said to the bartender. When the man behind the bar asked what sort he angled himself back to you again, you sheepishly pointed to the tap of your choosing and said your thanks quietly. 

You heard your name from the pest behind you and ignored it, watching the bartender pull your pints along with those of the only person at the bar you had any interest in. 

“Fine then, be a bitch.” The man huffed and walked away, you only knew because your new companion’s eyes watched him closely as he left. Tracking him through the crowd. Something about him made your skin tingle. Made the hairs on your body stand. There was an edge to him that scared you.

“Sorry about him” you said at the same time, eliciting a laugh from you both. 

“So, you planning on neckin’ two pints or are you waiting on someone?”  He asked as he slid his card over to the barman. 

“Oh, no you don’t have to pay for these. Please, let me ge-“ 

“Think of them as payment, for tonight's lesson. Anyway, are you alone?” 

“Oh, I’m just waiting on a friend.” You shook you head, confused. “Wait. What lesson?” 

He laughed, tucking his card back into his pocket, arranging his three pint glasses into a triangle, then balancing the two bottles on their rims. He’d never be able to carry these back to his table, at least not without spilling half their contents.

“In manners,” he said with a wink before grasping the drinks in his big hands and slipping back into the flow of the crowd, disappearing like a ghost. 

— — — 

“Bloody took you long enough, L.t” Gaz crowed, clearly they’d need less pints and a few glasses of water to offset all the tequila they’d drunk in Simon’s absence. 

“Did you go to brew la cheve, Ghost?” Rudy chimed in, emboldened by the alcohol. 

Ghost huffed and set the full drinks down deftly. “Shut up and drink.” He didn’t have to tell them twice. 

The conversation and alcohol flowed easily as the boys cleansed themselves of the stresses of war. Minutes rolled into hours and their raucous laughs drew a few sidelong glances to their table, they couldn’t care less. 

“Right,” Garrick said as he stood, clapping his hands together and rubbing them mischievously. “I’d murder a kebab right now. Have you lads had kebabs before?” He asked their Mexican companions. Soap stood and stretched, the promise of a trip to the chippers rousing him from his stupor. “Not a kebab on a stick, like… with lamb and cabbage and sauce, y’know. A kebab.” he chimed in, clapping Gaz on the back for his enlightened suggestion. Alejandro and Rudy shook their heads with a laugh, “teach us the British way, amigos. Where do we get this ‘kebab’?” Rudy asked as he and the other two men stood from the table. 

The pros and cons of a kebab after a night out were being discussed as though life’s meaning could be deciphered after one drunken bite. As Soap and Gaz evangelised a groggy ‘no!’ caught Simon’s attention. The quiet pleads were mixed with a name that was new, yet familiar. 

“One second, lads,” he said as he moved ahead of the group, instinctively making his way towards the source of the disquieting feeling growing in his chest. Something was wrong, very very wrong. 

“No, I don’t— I want to go. I don’t— I’m too tired. I want—no,” the girl from the bar was pulling against the grip of the man who’d ran with his tail between his legs at the first sign of confrontation. Simon didn’t have to listen to the young woman’s garbled sentences to know this shouldn’t be happening. She didn’t know him. She didn’t trust him. Neither did he. The would be assailant kept muttering her name and steering her towards the door as she shook her head and kept glancing behind her. 

“Oi. Is there a problem, mate?” Simon asked, as his friends caught up with him. The man blanched as he looked up at Simon, growing quiet as the girl's protests got louder, drawing the attention of the few patrons left in the pub. 

“She’s wasted, I’m just trying to get her home,” a shaky laugh punctuated the lie. 

“I’m sure. But she doesn’t know you.” Simon pushed the mans shoulder, sending him two steps back and giving the girl the chance to shake him off. 

“She… her friend knows me, he told me to get her home. Right? David,” he reached out to the girl in an attempt to get her attention. The look in Simon’s eyes told him that wasn’t a smart move. “Hey, tell them that David told me to-” before the sentence could end Soap spoke up, putting himself between Simon and the man, as Simon stepped closer. Whether this David existed or not didn’t matter, the Lieutenant was ready to separate the man’s lying head from his body. A scene was ill advised, especially if the police ended up getting involved. 

“Alright,” Soap said, he reigned in his brogue as best he could, “let’s not put words in anyone’s mouth.” He began trying to deescalate the situation, much to Simon’s irritation. The girl looked up at him and he watched as she took in his face and something dawned on her. 

“Ah, manners,” she said, mumbling to herself as she drew nearer to him. Simon couldn’t help but soften at that, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her protectively. She’s been full of fire at the bar, a small part of him felt more sad than angry at the situation she found herself in. Maybe he should have stayed with her, at least until her friend came. 

“Yeah, that’s me. Can you tell me your friends name, or what they look like? Maybe we can find-”

“The ghost with manners” she said weakly as she pressed her head against his chest, body going slack, knees buckling beneath her. Simon’s arms reached around her, his grip like a vice pressing her closer to him. The Ghost. 

Ghost. How could she know that name?

He clung to her weak frame like a raft on a rocky sea. His fingers digging into the soft flesh of her as they both spiralled. 

— — — 

Weak pleads and careful promises swirled behind you, you couldn't hear them. Not really. Every fibre of your being was fixed on the man holding you up. The ghost from the bar with the big hands and scary eyes. But he wasn’t scary now, not anymore. Not to you. 

“Hey,” his deep voice rang out above the world around you, though he spoke to you gently. A whisper that contained the roar of a distant sea. Who? Who was he? 

“Simon, my name’s Simon.” 

Shit. Had you said that out loud? Why couldn’t you tell? Why couldn’t you stand? You tried to take a shaky step back, to get free. To get a better look at this ‘Simon’, but your legs wouldn’t work, the muscles felt heavy and useless. How were you still standing, why couldn’t you remember how you’d gotten here? 

You and David had been drinking, laughing. He’d gone to the bathroom. Said he’s meet you at the door and you’d get a taxi home together. Then the room began to slip away.  A tide pulled you to the door. Sticky hands, a shake voice, and your name over and over again as you were pulled away.  You’d wanted to fight but your body wouldn’t let you. You wanted to scream but your voice wouldn’t work right, your words didn’t fit together. The last few minutes became a puzzle somehow, and it terrified you.

Then Simon. 

Like some vengeful angel, he appeared from nowhere. Pulling you close, holding you up though you felt as heavy as a star. 

“Please, Simon… Simon,” you muttered, not sure whether he could hear you or if you were speaking in your mind again. Though a part of you felt like he could hear everything in there too. 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ve got you.” 

Suddenly you were warm and weightless, drifting through the cold air. Fear beat in your chest, thumping against your ribs like a molten ball. You were going to die. You were certain. Your stomach rolled at the realisation. 

“You’re not going to die, pet. You’re just a bit poorly now. But I’ve got you.” 

His voice was closer now, warm lips pressed against your ear as he spoke into your mind. You wanted to believe him, so badly. You wanted to believe it was true. 

“It is. I won’t let you die. I swear.” 

“Don’t you let— don’t let me down. Are you gonna drop me?” please don't, Simon. Please. 

“No, never.”

Simon.  

Your ghostly Simon. The word shone bright in your foggy mind. “Never— don't hurt me.” 

Something deep in you told you he couldn't.

— — — 

The nurse at the desk was asking all the wrong questions. Simon could guess the answers she wanted, he could form a loose timeline in his mind. A version of events that made sense. But one thing was certain, he’d have to embellish the truth to get the right result. Civilian life was easier in someways, harder in others. 

He gave her a name, gave an approximation of an age but he wouldn’t be allowed to stay with you unless he started filling in the blank spaces. He’d made a promise to you, and he’d keep it. 

“I need a surname for the intake form, sir. Do you actually know this young lady?” 

He sighed. He wasn’t the villain here. He knew how it looked, five men bringing a clearly intoxicated girl into the ER was dodgy. But he wasn’t the villain. 

“Yeah, I already said that. Look, she needs help, and I have to stay with her, she’ll be looking for me when she wakes up.” 

“I understand that sir, but only family are allowed to stay with patients overnight. And you still haven’t given me her—“

Surname and relationship to him. Yeah, because he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to be here, all night if it took that long. He had to be there when you woke up, so he could fulfil his promise. So you'd know you were safe.

“Riley. It’s Riley.” 

“And you’re family?” 

Was he?

“Yes, of course.” 

Now he was.

[rose-tinted-glasses671]

Echo Chambers Inside A Neighborhood (ch. 1)

read the rest: masterlist

a/n: thank you to the beautiful @junosbugs for giving me a stellar idea for a forced proximity fic. ily.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Fucking bullshit. Distance was turning your heart sour.

By the end of the day, he would be back on your couch, probably smelling of cheap liquor and even cheaper cologne. Maybe his hair would be disheveled, as if someone ran their hands through it, or maybe he’d have a lipstick stain on the collar of his hideous grey button-up.

But this was Ethan you were talking about. If anything, he’d go to lengths to cover up his tracks. Try to manipulate you into thinking it was all in your head, as if you didn’t have the proof sitting in front of you.

You happened upon the texts so innocently, yet you weren’t surprised that this had happened at all. And it wasn’t sadness that overcame you at the betrayal, but rather annoyance that you’d put with his bullshit for so long.

“Fuck.” You picked your phone up to see a couple of messages from friends but none from Ethan. But why would he text you? He didn’t think anything was wrong.

You were tired of everything. Your shitty job, your shitty flat, your shitty boyfriend. You couldn’t even muster up the strength to get yourself out of bed this morning, let alone bring yourself to care about how you were gonna pay for said shitty flat once you kicked Ethan out.

But you wanted to be done with him. Here and now. So you reluctantly rolled out of bed and in a split-second decision, started gathering up every one of Ethan’s belongings; clothes, shoes, socks, underwear, his stupid guitar that he didn’t even know how to play, and you dumped that shit on the sidewalk downstairs. Fuck it. People could take whatever they wanted; it wasn’t your problem anymore.

Another few trips up and down the building and now your closet was half empty and you felt a lot better. You sent the incriminating screenshots and a picture you took of Ethan’s stuff on the dirty sidewalk to him, the words ‘It’s over’ trailing along in the next message. You wouldn’t let him explain himself. It wasn’t worth it.

Half an hour later, with your phone blowing up with messages and calls, you sat at your windowsill with a cup of coffee in your hands, staring out at the street below you, quietly observing. You had anticipated Ethan coming back, and as you watched a familiar head of moppy brown hair in an ill-fitting suit charge down the street and into the building, you realized that this was all well and truly over.

The knock on your door a couple minutes later was aggressive, the voice calling out your name and demanding you open the door even more so.

Without haste, you set your mug down on dining table next to you and approached the door, opening it so that only your face could peek through.

“Hey stranger,” you smiled, peering at Ethan’s red face.

“What the fuck, babe!?” he shouted, an octave you recognized well.

“You’re gonna want to keep your voice down, babe. The neighbors might complain.”

“Fuck the fucking neighbors. Why the fuck is all my shit out on the road!?”

You really did try to hold back your laugh. Honestly. But the incredulity of his question stunned you, and you didn’t know how else to respond.

“Am I stupid?” you asked after your fit of laughter died down.

“Huh?”

“Am. I. Stupid?” you reiterated.

“No?” Ethan stood up stalk straight, confused at your line of questioning.

“Ok,” you nodded. “So why the fuck did you think you could make a fool out of me?”

Ethan scrambled for a response, then decided to pull the dumbest one out of his ass. “No, babe. You’ve got it all wrong. That’s not me. I didn’t send those texts.”

“Right, and I’m assuming you didn’t send those videos of you jerking off your shriveled dick to those girls either?”

Ethan’s face paled, a heavy silence sitting in the air as he stared at you. He tried forming words, but you watched as they died a quick death on his tongue.

“I put up with your shit for a long time because I thought I loved you. But let me tell you something.” You leaned your head out the door a little further, as if you were about to let him in on a secret. “Even your parents knew when to cut you loose before you ruined their lives.”

You knew you’d hit the mark when Ethan’s face turned from anguish to fury. His parents cutting ties with him was a sore spot that he still didn’t know how to deal with. And you wanted to twist the knife until it hurt.

“Oh, and I’m keeping the X-Box. I paid for it anyway.” With those final words, you snatched the key Ethan was still holding in his hand and slammed the door in his face. You heard the faint voice of your neighbor echoing in the hallway, to which Ethan said something about everything being fine. And yes, everything would be fine. As soon as the tears stopped falling.

---

‘Room for rent. Urgently need a flatmate. Pls contact.’

You read over the ad to make sure all the pertinent information was listed since you hadn’t gotten any calls about it yet. It’d been up for a week now, and you’d been taking more shifts to hopefully cover the rent for next month in case you weren’t able to find someone to rent the extra room out. That also meant you had less time to spend on school, but finishing your masters was seeming less daunting than keeping a roof over your head. All for a better future, you told yourself as you took a drag of your cigarette.

“’Ey,” Sammy called out to you in his thick Scottish accent as he exited into the back alley where you were taking your break. “Busy day.”

“Understatement of the century. It’s a fucking fish market in there.” With the holidays approaching, it seemed like every family in the city wanted to frequent the restaurant you waitressed at. That meant more work, but hey, it also meant more tip money in your pocket.

“Can I bum off you?” Sammy questioned, holding out his hand for your cigarette.

“Smoke your own.” You reared back. “I’m broke and this is the only luxury I allow myself.”

Sammy chuckled and shook his head, pulling out his own pack. You watched the cloud of smoke exiting your lungs, taking solace in the shapes it formed as it dissipated in the air.

“Oi, by the way,” Sammy interjected after a few minutes of silence. “My cousin’s son ‘as a colleague who’s looking fer a new living arrangement in the city. Passed on yer number to the lad.”

"Really?” A sudden rush of relief coursed through you. You seldom felt so stressed out, even when you were working your way through undergrad. But now, it was starting to feel like if you didn’t get your shit straight, you’d have to drop out of school and move back home. And you couldn’t do that.

You had contemplated calling your mom a few times, but you doubted she had any money herself. It all probably went to the liquor and pills anyways.

“Thank you. You’re a life saver.”

“Sure. And just so ya know, the offer still stands.”

You shook your head. “Thank you, Sammy. But I can’t take your money.”

“It’s just a loan,” Sammy shrugged, taking a pull of his Marlboro.

“I know.” You dropped the remainder of your cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with your shoe. “But I don’t like owing people anything.”

Sammy chuckled again, but thankfully dropped the subject. You couldn’t even bring yourself to borrow money from your mother, let alone a coworker.

Checking the time on your phone, you let out a long groan. “I’ll see you back in there.” You headed back into the restaurant, the warm air surrounding you like a blanket and the smell of steak making your stomach grumble. You should’ve opted for a snack instead of a smoke.

The rest of your shift was a lot of the same, all fake smiles and rancidly sweet customer service voices. Running back and forth and back and forth, putting on your best act so you could get a decent tip. It was exhausting. You hated every second of it, but you weren’t in a particularly good mood these days.

When it finally came time to close, the Maître d’ allowed you to leave early per your generous request to be there bright and early next morning to help set up.

The walk home was frigid, the December air chilling you to the bone and turning your nose pink. It wasn’t a long walk back to the flat, but you were always cautious of your surroundings, holding your purse tight to your body and keeping a fast pace.

In your rush to get back to your bed, you almost didn’t notice your phone buzzing in your pocket. Against your better judgement, you took it out and saw an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

“Hello?” you said into the phone. The person on the line didn’t reply, so you pulled your phone away to see if the call had connected.

“Yes, sorry.” A gruff voice finally spoke up as you brought the device back to your ear. “My name is Simon Riley. I got this number from John. Said you were looking to rent out your room?”

“Oh, yeah. Hi.” You didn’t know why your voice was coming out flustered. “It’s still available, if you’re interested.”

“I am. Very much.”

You chuckled at the bored tone of his voice. He sounded anything but.

“Um, okay. Did you want to come see the place or something? See if it’s the right fit?” You suggested it to be polite, but really, you wanted to see this man to gauge whether he was the right fit. You could deal with messy, noisy roommates, but you would not let an unknown man share a space with you before deciding you were comfortable with him.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you the address.”

“Alright then.” With that, the line went dead.