#simon snow affection

[letraspal]

Happy Birthday Baz Pitch! Never forget you were brought to this world with love.

(Also, happy birthday to the one and only @rainbowrowell)

[valeffelees]

hey, g'morning ☀️ (he said, even though it's literally quarter-to one in the afternoon.) (LOL.)

thank you kindly @hushed-chorus, @blackberrysummerblog, @artsyunderstudy, and @larkral for tagging me today, i'm really (!!!) excited to see what y'all've been working on. 🤸‍♂️

i think editing is going well for Without Sun, but okay, fun fact: i pre-draft all my fanfics out like a stage play before writing them, right. and so as i was going through my fic yesterday i found a scene right in the middle that's still just, like 300 words of raw script? i don't write chronologically, so i guess i skipped over it and then just forgot about it? lmao, RIP 🪦

so n e way, i thought i'd share a few short Penny and Simon moments today, 'cause their friendship is very important to me.

(1/4)

He looks up at Penelope, standing there with [Simon's] bag hanging over her shoulder. “Ignore him,” she says. He doesn’t know how. Baz lives under Simon’s skin, and he’s been there for so long that Simon doesn’t know how to draw him back out anymore, wouldn’t even know where to start. But he takes Penelope’s hand. And she doesn’t let go, even once she’s pulled him to his feet. 

(2/4)

[...] Simon looks at Penny. Scratching something into her notes, too absorbed in being ambitious and clever and all swotty and shit to notice the turmoil happening over her head. Her hair is tangled up into a huge, fluffy ponytail and her mouth is moving, she’s talking. And she’s smiling.

(3/4)

Simon heads for Miss Possibelf’s Magic Words classroom instead. Because the only thing he wants right now more than a warm shower and a soft bed, and maybe a hot cup of tea, is Penelope Bunce.

(4/4)

“I need you to wake up,” he tells her now, whispering into a silence he can’t actually break. An analogue clock is ticking on the wall above the door. “I need you to help me, I don’t—what am I supposed to do, Pen? I don’t know how to fix this type of shit on my own.”

i love them very much. 😌

Tag, you're it! 🪄 @cutestkilla @raenestee @thewholelemon @captain-aralias @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @imagineacoolusername @ivelovedhimthroughworse @facewithoutheart

[momgothic]

nah because we do NOT talk enough about how FUCKED it was that Simon sobbed "STOP HURTING ME" and the only way Davy was going to stop was DYING what the FUCK was that

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage. 

You have to try. You have to. 

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens. 

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break. 

Just like you. 

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation. 

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again. 

The house. 

Your knees find ground. 

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or… 

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace. 

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching. 

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun. 

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip. 

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning. 

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch. 

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick. 

You’re sick. 

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face. 

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?” 

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod. 

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes. 

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity. 

You’re sick. 

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second. 

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking. 

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem. 

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.  

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure. 

If you could make it to the door. 

If you could make it down the hall. 

If you could get out. 

You grit your teeth. 

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time. 

They must not be here. 

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how. 

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron. 

You can do it. You can. 

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming. 

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just- 

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew. 

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks. 

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once. 

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go. 

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass. 

You’re locked in here. With them. 

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors. 

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes. 

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark. 

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look. 

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings. 

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.” 

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle. 

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.” 

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me. 

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.” 

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die. 

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both. 

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot. 

You’re sick. 

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it. 

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes. 

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day. 

Why must the leash be so tight? 

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe. 

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick. 

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick. 

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey. 

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick. 

Eight months prior: 

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition. 

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well... 

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it. 

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered. 

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove. 

[allllium]

🖤 Best Simon "Ghost" Riley Fics on Tumblr 🖤

Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

Fluff

° High

Gentle Hands

↳ @hyperactively-me

Unmasked Love [Dad Simon]

Homeward Bound

↳ @springtyme

Simon Taking Care of Reader

Physical Touch

Drabble [Dad Simon?]

Drabble [Dad Simon]

Drabble

Drabble

↳ @starstruckmiraclekitty

Drabble

Birthday Boy

Bimbo!Reader

↳ @yawnderu

Showering

Simon Buys You A Gift

↳ @stargirlrchive

° Simon Needing to Hold You After a Bad Day

Girl Dad [Dad Simon]

↳ @thexsilentxwordsmith

Soon

Smitten

↳ @tojisun

Physical Affection

Drabble

Curly Haired Gf

Laugh

↳ @sunsetsimon

Roommate!Simon

Baby

↳ @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

° Soft Moments ~ @mockerycrow

Drunk!Reader [Mafia Simon] ~ @cordeliawhohung

Bone Tired ~ @tacticaldiary

Vulnerable ~ @velvetures

Headcannons ~ @thephant0menace

Taking off the Mask ~ @empresskylo

Picture-Perfect ~ @ghostaholics

Mockingbird [Dad Simon] ~ @bejeweledblondie

Fatherhood || [Dad Simon] ~ @lundenloves

° Melting ~ @qtboni

Casual Affection ~ @erosology

Lieutenant Ghost Hates Admitting hes Fallen for you ~ @shadowspromise

° Pregnancy [Dad Simon?] ~ @xmy-love-to-youx

Hush ~ @kivino

° Clingy Simon ~ @colonelarr0w

Dad!Simon [Dad Simon] ~ @aethelwyneleigh27

Husband Simon with a Baby [Dad Simon] ~ @ahqkas

The Dog Protects you [Dad Simon] ~ @the-froschamethyst4

Sassy ~ @lxvvie

Physical Touch ~ @prettyoatmeal

Dad!Simon [Dad Simon] ~ @ragingbookdragon

The Ghost Distribution System ~ @ghouljams

Too Good [Dad Simon] ~ @dammn-dean

° Just Play Along ~ @rileyslibrary

Sick!Simon ~ @suimon

Mood Swings, Cravings, and Breakdowns ~ @midnightcrw

Bathing ~ @dmitriene

Snow Angels... Kinda [Dad Simon] ~ @bagofshinyrocks

Sweet cheeks ~ @maskedmenmakemeferal

No Glass ~ @certifiedfreec

Simon as a Father ~ @circlebuttons

Drabble ~ @skyrigel

This Tornado Loves You ~ @ferritins

Ghost!Ghost ~ @idreaminphosphorescence

Plus-sized!Reader ~ @cumikering

Touching ~ @celestialprincesse

Tattoo Artist ~ @rememberwren

Shocking ~ @lxvvie

[hyperactively-me]

Hear me out…King Ghost is wearing a white shirt and he somehow falls into a pond/lake in front of his wife. When he gets out of the water his white shirt is completely transparent and (y/n) can see everything. And while Simon is trying to get out of the lake he just sees his wife looking at him like 👀.

(In reality, a king’s shirt shouldn’t be flimsy and thin enough to be that transparent but I think it is a funny thought if Simon specifically got thin white shirts so his wife would check him out bc he’s a little slut for his wife but she doesn’t know that yet shhhh.)

omg bestie please this is the scene from bridgerton we all know and dearly love!!!!! yes!!

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden, glow across the lake. The winter season had finally passed, the snow gone and melted. Spring had sprung. King Ghost guided a small rowboat through the gentle water, the oars of the boat skimming over the water languidly.

As the boat glided effortlessly across the water, you sat back, enjoying the gentle breeze and the soothing lull of the water. You peek your head over the side of the boat for a moment, staring at your wavy reflection in the water.

“The spring here is beautiful, Simon,” you say, running a hand in the cool water.

“I thought you would like it,” he says, continuing to row the boat, each stroke of the oars propelling you both towards the dock. “Kastron is known for its wildflower fields, super blooms occur here in the springtime, especially during the rainy season.” 

“Oh wow! That sounds amazing, you’ll have to take me to see them sometime,” you smile, looking back up at him from the water. 

As the boat drifts, you take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh spring air. It's a welcome break from the formalities and duties in the palace, and a chance for the two of you to be together.

Spending time with him was all you wanted a few months ago, and since then, he’s made a continuous and honest effort to spend time with you, and you with him. Honestly, you’ve grown to truly have an affection for him, a real liking for him, a stark difference from the time you first met him.

The sunlight dances on the surface of the lake, casting a shimmering reflection. You find yourself lost in the beauty of the moment, the gentle ripples of the water, and the soothing sounds of nature all around you.

Simon's strong arms work in time with the boat, his gaze never leaving you. He shifts slightly, thinking of something to say. "I had hoped this outing would be a pleasant surprise," he says, his tone soft and earnest.

You lean closer to him, reaching out to caress his cheek with your hand. “It is more than pleasant, Simon. It's perfect.”

His brown eyes, once reserved and guarded, now shine with warmth. He briefly stops rowing, allowing the boat to drift for a moment as he leans in to kiss the palm of your hand. 

"I'm glad to hear that," he whispers, his lips grazing your skin. "I wanted to show you a different side of Kastron, just you and me.”

You can't help but blush, feeling a flutter in your chest. The two of you had grown closer over the past few months, and it was moments like these that made you realize just how much you enjoyed his company. You've come to appreciate his dedication to his people, his sense of duty, and his unwavering support for you.

The boat drifted to a halt by the lakeside, and Simon gracefully rose to disembark. But, without warning, his foot caught on the edge of the boat's wooden plank, and he stumbled, pitching forward into the cool water. 

You gasped, your heart leaped in your chest as you watched him vanish beneath the surface with a splash. Your first instinct was to reach out, to help him, but you remained frozen, unable to take your eyes off the scene unfolding before you.

Simon resurfaced, water dripping from his tousled, sandy blonde hair, and that's when you noticed it. His once perfectly pressed white shirt now clung to him like a second skin, rendered completely transparent by the water. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw every curve and contour of his physique, the strong lines of his chest, and the ripple of his muscles beneath the wet fabric.

Your husband, the king, stood before you, basically exposed, yet somehow looks more alluring than ever. You didn’t have to know he tripped on purpose. Hell, he’s way too coordinated for a fall as simple as that. He only did it to impress you, to get into your subconscious. But you don’t have to know.

“Simon!” you cry out, springing up from your seat. The boat rocks as you push yourself up from your seat, leaning over the boat. You jump over your seat, extending a hand to Simon. 

He takes your hand with a sheepish grin, water dripping from his soaked clothes. “Well, that was—" he says, chuckling.

You can't help but stare, you really can’t. You help pull him back on the boat, watching his arms flex as he pulls himself up. His proximity sends a shiver down your spine, but you do your best to focus. “Are you okay?”

Simon nods, water droplets splattering around him. “I'm perfectly fine, just a bit wet,” he replies, slipping his shirt off. You are now staring unabashedly at his now bare chest, his muscles and abs rippling as he starts to wring out his shirt as best he can. 

“O– okay” you gulp, nodding. 

“What is it?” he asks, nonchalant.

“Nothing, it’s nothing, just…you falling startled me a bit,” your eyes darted around, your face growing extremely warm.

“Hm. Well, I am sorry for startling you—”

“No, don’t be sorry at all!” you laugh slightly, brushing hair from your face.

“Alright, I’m not sorry, then,” he says, now fully grinning at you. “I saw you staring.”

Your mouth goes agape for a split second, then you flounder, spluttering about how you weren’t staring. 

“I wasn’t staring!” you say incredulously, exaggerating your reaction. 

“You definitely were, darling.” 

“No I wasn’t!”

He just laughs, shaking his head. He turns, hiding his face from you for a moment. God, he’s obsessed with you.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[blingblong55]

Valentine- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

(photo belongs to: @ave661 )

Based on a request:

For fluffy ghost - he's a big intimidating looking dude but animals LOVE HIM. Dogs, cats, rodents, everything. I love the idea of him being trapped on a couch bc too many sleepy animals are on him. Kittens like to climb him. Rodents want to snuggle in his hood or his pocket. Dogs are obsessed and follow him and want to give him kissies. Hed be really good at finding lost pets cause they just come running up to him out of nowhere. (That or like imagine having a cat that's super friendly and telling him your cat doesn't like people so when the kitty cuddles up with him he will feel special).

GN!Reader, Fluff, Friends to lovers

I've rejected affection For years and years Now I have it and damn it It's kind of weird

He isn't much of a people person or more that everyone finds him to be intimidating. But lately, as you have become closer to him, he found himself, wandering the halls of the base, looking for you. And occasionally, there'll be some furry friend with him. There have been times when you call him snow white for that reason alone. Sitting under a willow tree? A bird, deer, cat, and/or dog goes to him and cuddles on his lap or shoulder. You find this so beautiful, it gives you some new perspective on him.

Sometimes during field training, he will get the occasional guard dog to stand by him and rub their body on his leg, begging for a head rub. This has become so frequent, that he has gotten used to it. One time, while in an active war zone, he got tackled by a very friendly dog. Soap was about to shoot it when Ghost laughed a little. "Don't you worry, sergeant, we got a friend, now." You and Soap look at each other, giving the other the 'Again' look. One time, purely because you were all waiting for the helicopter to pick you up, he began to attract all sorts of friendly animals. So much so, that one of the animals became the birthday gift to Price's little girl.

I've lost all control of my heartbeat now

Another time, Gaz begged his lieutenant, to fetch a kitten for his girlfriend and as always, it worked. As you two grow closer and closer, he visits your home frequently. You two usually stay in your back garden, sitting by the grass and then soon the birds begin to chirp by the branches, this is only when he is there, no other time. "You know, this is nice, having this time with you." he softly confesses. His balaclava on your sofa's arm while you two enjoy the warm sun by the grass. Before you could even answer, your two pups and the grumpy cat who hates everyone approach him and purrs. "Bloody hell, Simon. You've done it again!" You laugh and he stares at you.

"This is a real problem I struggle with, R/N." He tried to pretend he was angry.

As time went on, and your pups grew, he began to be stuck somewhere during the winter visits. Your cosy sofa. Your dog lying on his chest and thighs, the grumpy cat that adores only him by his shoulder and the newest puppy he got you, tucked by his hood. It's a site to see, for sure and it's the best one you can get as his new partner. You always thought it was that his body radiated warmth but you soon found yourself to be going to him like a magnet. It's an inexplicable force that pulls you to him. It's safety, comfort, familiarity and understanding that he radiates to those vulnerable, delicate and small creatures.

The way he is, a giant, grumpy man, with three hobbies, smart, strong, rough but the way he protects everything that is at arms reach. That is what makes him so unique and special. You never viewed him this way when you first met. Never thought he was into puzzles, history and reading. His mind is so great and if he wanted to, he could be a successful professor elsewhere. Maybe it's the years of his own struggles and how he understands those who might be close to another breakdown that brings a certain level of comfort. Perhaps its how he caresses the creatures that crawl to him, that yearn for the love he gives. And maybe now it's you that is added to that list.

I still feel a shock through every bone When I hear an, "I love you" 'Cause now I've got someone to lose

Six years ago, you found him. He petted two stray cats and a squirrel on his shoulder, the one he kept feeding before winter. And now, in a dim kitchen light, listening to jazz, swaying in his arms, that is home to you and those sweet things. "My R/N, you have to sway like this." His hand was on your hip, the other holding your hand as he guided you. That skull balaclava hidden in the drawer of your now shared home. No longer the grey flat he lived in as a soldier but now, in a small, cosy and beautiful home as your husband.

Even to this say, when you go to the park to walk your pets, he has some new furry friends that come to him. And he gives you that look, 'Again' as you, with a big proud smile take a bag of treaties from the bag you carry for this occasion. He and you sit in a bench, just like the old couple that frequently sits across from you both. It's like staring in a mirror, he tells you every time. The man across from him feeds the birds, while he feeds the dogs or cats near him.

I blinked and suddenly I had a Valentine

[whirredplay]

I haven’t seen anyone discuss the fact that it’s snowing now in Fionna’s universe???

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

I know it’s been confirmed that Prismo is responsible for downloading FionnaandCakeVerse into Ice King’s brain, so Ice King didn’t contribute to its original qualities. But the canon reason Fionna’s life is boring now is because Simon is normal, right? So he CAN affect it, even if unconsciously.

Now Simon is making a concerted effort to make Fionna and Cake’s world like Ooo again, and is willing to become Ice King again to achieve that. It’s also now been proven that Simon won’t be able to shunt his madness if he wears the crown again, vis a vise The Winter King having to give the madness to PB in order to remain sane (and thus turns into a dickbag)

If the FionnaandCakeVerse can be impacted by Simon’s mental state, and it’s suspiciously heavily snowing while Simon is thinking about Ice King, does that imply he can just headcanon things into being actually canon?

[itsthesinbin]

Could I ask for some SFW and NSFW Simon petrikov or Winter king headcannons? Sorry I just love them sm 😭

ill do our simon bc i just...... im sorry winter king doesnt do it for me LMAO. trying too hard to be a sexyman. love brian in the role tho!

Simon Petrikov (Adventure Time)

SFW

He's autistic and therefore his main way of showing affection is "sit in the same room as you and do things in silence together". He'll be reading, you'll play a game or also read or watch tv. It's his bonding time.

He is very physically affectionate though. His time at the Ice King has left him very lonely and touch starved. Please hold him and/or let him hold you.

He does have regression days where he's paranoid and scared. You'll find him dressed as the Ice King, covering himself in ice or cold water or even sitting out in the snow. Just be patient with him and prove you're not gonna run off.

Library dates. Please go to the library with him.

NSFW

He's desperate during sex. He grabs you too hard, mutters into your skin and presses as close as he possibly can. He has to know you're real and you're there and you're not a figment that's going to vanish beneath his fingers.

He really feels his age after losing the power of the crown, so his joints and spine ache. He's grateful that you don't mind riding him or being above him. Not that he CAN'T be the one on top, but sometimes he just needs a break.

Very slow and loving. He takes his time, wanting to really feel you during the act.

One trait that stayed over was his babbling. When he gets close, he whines and mutters incoherent words and pleas. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as he nearly sobs into your neck.

Still cries after sex, but it isn't as often as it was with the crown. Maybe about 40% of the time. Likes to press his ear to your chest afterward. It helps him sleep.

[gh0stswh0re]

"you are freezing, soldier"

warnings: f! reader, vague descriptions of physical pain/discomfort, simon's being mean (for like one line), surprisingly no sexual tension, just pure fluff, 700+ words

a/n: a late night dribble which definitely deserves a part two (otherwise it's not gonna be hoe december) is this super melodramatic or am i just insanely sleep deprived??

...

a dull ache set in your stiffened muscles, as your eyes swelled with tears and you bit down on the inside of your numb cheek – yet somehow, you've never felt this warm before. in all honesty, it must have been the adrenaline or maybe the fact you've been walking for hours now.

it was only getting colder and colder – the cruel wind grew harsher, sharper to the point where it felt like it was shaving the periosteum off your bones. the sun's been distant throughout the day – the rays of light barely visible, deafened by the bold, grey clouds.

you missed it – the sun's bright brilliance painting the horizon in dark shades of red and orange. the snow, once a subject of your affection, now felt bitter and sorrowful, covering the green grass – fuck, you missed that too, but not nearly as much as the fire; the playful dancing of the colorful flames, and the creaking sounds of the burning wood, masked by loud laughter filling the room. you enjoyed it, even though most of the time jokes were made at your expense – the guys liked teasing you, provoking reactions and messing around with you. especially after simon would stand up for you, defending you – "that ain't nice, give her a break"

you wiped softly at your eyes, quietly sniffling as the air hitched in your throat – it was barely what? 2 am? maybe just close to midnight? didn't really matter – time didn't make any difference now; all those pleasant thoughts, all the times you took for granted now barely felt like memories, distant at the back of your mind-

"cut the shit – we ain't lost, alright?" the exhaustion in his voice was visible, as he let out an irritated huff – he was being harsh and cruel again. "-'m sorry, sir, didn't mean to" he stopped dead in his tracks, making you jump as you nearly bumped into him. "don't know what gave you the idea-" the way he looked at you made your skin crawl, or maybe that was just the goosebumps starting to rise as the response to the chilly, snow-kissed air. "- but i'm not letting anything bad happen to you" you wanted to nod, to maybe even just say something, but seeing him walk towards you paralyzed you in place; leaving you too overwhelmed to move as hundreds of questions prowled through your mind, the ache in your belly growing, what was he about to do- his hand slid underneath your jacket, the back of his palm carefully brushing against the bare skin of your neck. "you are freezing, soldier" empathy and concern favored his words – well, as much as he allowed it or maybe as much as he couldn't mask it – at least not anymore.

he took the backpack you've given him - forced him to carry somewhere after the second hour of your shared adventure – throwing it off his shoulder onto the ground. sitting down on it, he leaned his back against a fallen log "c'mere" his tone was soft – well, softer, at least – and you walked over, sitting down on his lap, avoiding direct eye contact.

"don't – i'm ain't giving you my jacket" that's the side of simon you knew best – him telling jokes in his usual, serious and staid voice and rarely anybody laughing - most people never catch up to the fact that what he said was, indeed, a joke.

"humble yourself - it's not like i wanted it" you always smiled back at him though, and always made sure to keep your voice at just the right amount of bitchy - which you knew would piss him off.

"probably smells, too" now you were just hiding the slight tremble in your words, as the warmth – both internal and external – seeped deeper into you. you started blushing, as palpitations sneaked into the rhythm of your heart's beating. resting your head on his chest, you felt him stiffen for a moment – purely out of instinct – right before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. one hand caressed your face, as his thumb swept over the single tear rolling down your cheek "-'s gonna be alright, sweet thing, yeah?" you nodded, bringing your own hand to your face in an attempt to stop yourself from bawling against his chest. "i promise"

[circe69]

Frostbite

Simon "Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader narrative: warming up with Simon after a freezing mission tags: warm bathes, making out, soft!simon cw: mentions of nudity (nonsexual), mentions of injury, suggestiveness.

The snow kept coming down harder and harder as the minutes passed, and you kept close behind Simon as you struggled to walk through the snow.

"You keepin' up, Y/N?" He yells over the loud winds. You give him a thumbs up as he turns around to check on you.

Neither of you were wearing the designated winter attire, seeing as the blizzard wasn't expected. You were wearing large cargo pants, with a matching sweatshirt and puffer vest. The tank top underneath was also helping to keep some of your body heat regulated, but all you really wanted was to get inside.

The nearest safe house was about to come into view, and you started walking a little faster as you began to see the log cabin roof poking out behind the tall snowcapped pine trees.

Simon's boots stepped onto the wooden porch, shaking off the snow as he walked. The front door creaked open, and you sighed in relief as you felt the warm air coming from inside.

"After you, m'lady," his gruff voice invited you in while holding the screen door open. You stepped inside, immediately taking off your boots that were soaked from all the melted snow. Simon came in after you, closing the door behind you.

"Take those wet clothes off and go get in the bath."

Your cheeks reddened at his request. You knew it was only because he was looking out for you, but it was difficult for you to hide your feelings for him when he said things like that.

You started with your puffer vest, leaving it to dry on one of the kitchen chairs, then took your sweatshirt off, leaving you only in your cargo pants and tank top.

Simon looked up from trying to start a fire in the fireplace, and you saw his eyes locked on you. You walked over to get a towel from the dining table, cutting the distance shorter between you and Simon, who was crouched down on the floor.

"Your bloody skin, Y/N, it's so red," he jumped up from where he was and made his way over to you.

His hands shot up to your arms, wrapping perfectly around your bare biceps. He tried to warm you up by shifting his hands up and down your arm. You shivered as his heat met your cold skin, and you almost collapsed into him, not realizing how much the cold had affected you.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" His voice faded in and out as you fully melted into him. He quickly sprang into action, and picked you up, carrying you bridal-style into the bathroom, throwing the towel you were holding over his shoulder.

As he made his way into the master bathroom, he set your frail body in the bathtub, carefully removing the soaked clothes from your body. You were in and out of consciousness, raising your hand in protest every so often, trying to say you could do it yourself, but Simon refused.

He turned the warm water on, testing the temperature with his wrist to make sure it wasn't too hot. As you felt the water pour over your body, you slowly came to. Simon's hand was soft and gentle as he scooped the water over every part of you.

When you looked up, you saw that his mask and shirt had been removed.

"Simon?" You whispered, trying not to look down at your body out of embarrassment.

"A few more minutes and you would've gotten frostbite, love."

His eyes looked so caring, so gentle. He noticed your hesitancy, your flushed cheeks and darting eyes.

"You're alright, Y/N. Promise."

After a few more minutes of silent staring, taking turns looking at each other's exposed features, you stood out of the bath. Simon had already left the bathroom and was waiting in the master bedroom.

You traced over your skin, the parts that he had so gently cared for, as you wrapped a soft robe around you, tying the string in the front loosely.

Stepping out of the steaming bathroom, you found Simon asleep on the bed. He wasn't even under the covers, and his feet were hanging off the bed. You smiled to yourself as you took a step closer, now in between his knees. You bent down, slowly, and paused as your lips were a few inches above his. You hesitated, knowing that this wasn't smart. You had no idea how Simon felt about you, but after all that he did for you tonight, you wanted to take a risk.

You leaned down even lower, steadying yourself by putting a hand close to where his head was. Your lips carefully caressed his, slowly picking up his with your own.

Simon stirred, and you knew it when you felt his lips moving against yours. Both of your hands were now on the bed, caging him in. You were putting a lot of trust in the robe, but it didn't even cross you mind as you stepped up onto the bed, putting your knee in between his thighs. You heard him let out a slight groan, making you open your mouth to hear it again.

His hands slowly raised up to your hips, carefully grabbing onto your body and pulling it down towards his. It wasn't too long before he was fully awake, and he flipped you onto your back. His fingers traced your collarbone as you kissed him deeper.

You broke from the kiss slowly and looked up to see his eyes. They were wandering, all over you. Every inch of your face and body, his eyes were on.

He intertwined your fingers in his as he gently laid down on you, letting his weight completely relax on you. You traced your fingers along his spine, occasionally tracing circles on the back of his neck before continuing on the rest of his skin.

"Did I scare you?" You whispered to him.

He leaned up to look at you, propping his head on his hand. "A little."

"Only a little?" You teased as your hand squeezed his shoulder.

Simon burrowed his head into your neck, almost embarrassed.

"More than that."

You smiled when you felt him smile onto your skin.

"I don't know what I would've done," he said softly. Maybe he didn't mean for you to hear him, or maybe he didn't even want to hear himself. Whatever he was thinking, you knew he truly cared about you.

[nrdmssgs]

I'm crazy and this is mainly based off my oc, but yn is prices adopted daughter that works with him, and the read is like 22-24 and price is supposed to be 45, and he kept it a secret because he's want to protect yn. I wanna see how the 141/könig reaction, can be romantic or platonic don't care lol, yes i know it's stupidly specific, but I'm stupidly specific.

The reader being Prices adopted daughter (part1)

Masterlist

Summary: you are Johns adopted daughter. This is how different members of the 141 find out about that and how they react.

AN: Hi! I'm almost through with this absolutely beautiful request! I've decided to split it into two parts, I really hope, you don't mind. I've kept it all really platonic and very comforting, and I just wanted to express my gratitude for such a wholesome request! Two important remarks: 1. My interpretation of your OC has turned to be a bisexual person. 2. The order in which the characters appear in the story does not affect their proximity to the main character in any way. This is simply the order in which the characters learned that she was Price's adopted daughter. She loves them all the same) I will, of course, tag you in the second part!!

There were four important names in your life. In your darkest hours, you kept repeating them in your mind. They were so much more than just colleagues, teachers, friends… they all were your family.

John

You were the oldest in your group in an orphanage. Others came and went, but not you. It happened so that you had to grow up ahead of time, get used to the fact that adults more often wanted to adopt babies. But you accepted this world and the rules. You never thought of it as some kind of noble mission, but you took care of your younger friends, worried about them, rejoiced with them. Whenever someone from your group left the shelter forever, you are separated from your friend, but at the same time rejoiced. Caregivers jokingly called you “the Keeper” sometimes, as you cared for other kids as much as a director of the orphanage. 

So when one day one of your teachers came up to you after class and said, "There's someone here who wants to meet you," and pointed to a man standing in the doorway, you were confused. The teacher led you to a stranger, and he squatted down so that your eyes were on the same level. "Hi. I'm John." He held out his hand, but noticing your uncertainty, lowered it and smiled warmly at you.

You hit it off quickly. John asked you a lot about life at the orphanage, about your interests. He himself turned out to be an incredibly interesting person: he visited all the corners of the world that you heard about on TV. John told you about jungles and canyons, about villages where all the roads were just small bridges thrown over the water, about ghost towns where it is so cold in winter that the steam from the mouth immediately turns into snow. Your stories seemed not that big to you. What is the story of how you and your friends fed a bumblebee worth compared to John's travels? You were embarrassed by this and quickly reduced such conversations to stories about your younger friends. What if he likes someone and takes one of them home?

“You seem to care for all of them dearly.” Johns looks on the horizon as you two sit on the bench. “You have it in you, kid. Willingness to help, to stand up for them. I see it clearly. Teach me to be like that, will ya?”

You look at him with big eyes full of disbelief. What can you teach him, an adult? Are you used to everyone teaching you something...

"I'm not doing anything special..." You look high into the sky above you. "Well, when any of them is very sad, I hug him with all my might. Maybe you can try to do the same and become like me?"

"Hug with all my might?" John chuckles. "Yes, Simon will be impressed..." But then he sees your worried stare and encourages you, "Hey, that's great advice! I'll try it. But I think, it's now time for you to have dinner, and for me to go home. Don`worry, kid, I promise to come in a week and update you on my progress!"

You do not believe that this man will return, so you try not to wait for him. Most often, adults come back for babies. You remember it. But he comes back a week later. Then he visits you again and again.

Then you end up visiting him. John has a whole house with a backyard! You build a bird feeders together, play board games late into the night, and even go hiking.

These are the best days of your life, and when it's time to go back to the orphanage, you turn your back on John and hide your tears, so he won't notice. "Hold on just a little longer, kid. I'll sort it out soon," he says, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

Whenever he takes you to his house, he gives you something: a plushie or a book or some clothes. But you never took those gifts to your orphanage because you were afraid that one day he would simply stop coming, disappear from your life, and all these trinkets would remind you of him. This little biter habit of yours broke Johns heart over and over again. You were still a child, but you were already afraid to get attached to someone.

One day he takes you back to his house once again. After an evening with cocoa and a board game, he hands you a simple envelope. "This is something very important. Take a look. I need your opinion on it." You are confused, but still open the envelope and start reading the document, that was inside it. You can hardly make out the text, overloaded with terms you are unfamiliar with. And then, little by little, understanding comes to you and the letters begin to blur before your watering eyes.

“Is… is it? I…” You try to say anything, but words fail you. So you jump off your chair and run to John. He barely has time to move away from the table when you do not even hug him - you cling to him with such force, as if your life depended on it. You've always tried to hide your tears in front of him, but now they're rolling and rolling down your face. John hugs you back and pats your head to comfort you. “It's ok, it's ok, I got you. You're gonna be ok, little one. We're gonna be ok. Not ok even - we're gonna be good. Together.” His voice is soft and quiet.

Simon

“I'll need you to take the mask off this time. Don't want you to scare anyone in m`house.” Ghost grants John a side eye and scoffs. “John Price lives alone no more?” John nods and continues to drive silently. Initially, Ghost was supposed to visit Captains house just for business, but now he is tormented by curiosity. “Someone trustworthy?” Ghosts voice is still muffled with the mask. “The most trustworthy person out there,” John smiles and Simon takes the mask off. Ghost enters the house before Price, who lingered at the trunk in search of something. Simon hears joyful kids voice. "John is back!" A girl of about twelve years of age runs down the stairs with a loud clatter. But when she sees Simon, she stops in her tracks. Price often leaves for some time, and she is already used to the fact that strangers often appear in the house: Johns relatives, acquaintances who look after the child while he is away. But Simons menacing appearance made her dumbfounded. She takes a tiny step back when Price's voice comes from the street. “It's ok, kid. This is mister Riley, he's my colleague and friend.” Both Ghost and the girl look at each other startled, not knowing what to say. John finally comes into the house and defuses the situation. "Look who we met on the way home," he says, and hands the girl a plush tiger cub. Her face immediately changes and she happily skips to John.

At dinner, she sits her new toy next to her and bombards Price with questions about his work and stories about what she has been doing in his absence. Simon looks from her to John and remembers how the captain stayed in his office until late at night, endlessly filling out some forms a couple of years ago. Ghost thought it had to do with work, but when he once offered to help Price with this paperwork, John refused with strange zeal. And now Ghost sees, what was it all about. And it all was hella worth it: she was the nicest, most well-behaved and happiest kid, Simon seen in a while. 

When they finished their dinner, the girl grinned conspiratorially. "Hey John! Guess what." And before Price could even react, she burst out impatiently and with ill-concealed delight: "I made your favorite dessert!"

"You? Or was it Aunt Meg?" John smirks and Simon realizes he's never seen the captain so happy before. "No, it's definitely me this time! She was just… looking out!"

Price walks into the kitchen and an awkward silence spreads across the living room. Although it seems that only Simon feels awkward - the girl stares at his tattoos with the most sincere interest. "Ehm, so you... love animals?" Ghost squints at the toy tiger cub. The girl smiles broadly and nods, never taking her eyes off Simon's arms. "Do you maybe… want to be a veterinarian when you grow up?" Simon continues this awkward conversation. "No!" She looks up at him and continues loudly, "When I grow up - I want to be a soldier like John!" The shrill sound of spoons and forks scattering across the floor comes from the kitchen.

“Soldier… I thought, kids in her age were supposed to want to become… I don't know, pop stars? Princesses? Figure skaters?” rants Price later that evening, when the girl is already sleeping and he and Simon are standing on a backyard. 

“She doesn't want to become any soldier. She wants to be 'a soldier like John'. You are her hero, Captain.” Simon chuckles, masking the fact, that he envies Price a bit. The undisguised delight with which the girl looks at John, her admiration for even the simplest, most trivial of his stories… No money could buy that.

Ghost visited Prices house throughout several next years, and every time he gradually became more comfortable around the girl. In some time, they could hang out together without any awkwardness. She brought her homework down to the big table in a living room and asked Simon to tell her stories about his work with John. Of course Simon tried not to mention anything too disturbing, but it was difficult, and the stories came out short and inconsistent. But she still thrived on them. “Seems like you are quite good at what you do!” She sounds almost as exited as when she talks to John. “Quite good? Lieutenant Ghost is the legend, kid,” comments Price, entering the room. Little do John and Simon know, this was the exact moment, that predetermined the girl's life for years to come. Now she had not just one, but two heroes and a dream: to become like them.

A few years later, which flew by for Simon like a few days, he and John were already present at her oath. Of the two, Ghost, who kept aloof from the others, seemed the calmer. John seemed to be worried about everything: because his daughter was one of the shortest in her formation, because of the bad weather and the fact that she was about to get wet, because of the form "which was of much better quality back in his time" ... But when she got out of line, when she began to recite the text of the oath, Simon shuddered inwardly. Price's daughter, this little dear miracle, who had been running around the house what seemed like just yesterday in funny pajamas, was reciting the oath... Ghost couldn't believe it.

And when she, with burning eyes and a happy blush on her face, ran up to them and saluted with the words "Captain, Lieutenant", Simon felt his eyes tingle. He left her alone with John so that they could share this very special moment. But a few minutes later he heard her hurried steps and she lightly squeezed his arm in a short friendly hug. "Starting your service with insubordination?" Simon scolded her, but in fact it was one of the brightest, happiest moments of his life. He never thought that someone else's adopted child could become so important to him.

Johnny

“Let go!” The fabric of Soaps T-shirt was stretched, and the seams began to crackle dangerously, ready to burst. "Johnny, cut it out!" - your voice echoed between the gray walls of the neighboring buildings of your base. You tried to work things out quietly, but with Soap, that's impossible. If he decides something, it's as good as done.

You try to hold him by force, but it's not so easy: to a greater extent, it's not your hands that clutched at his T-shirt that stop him, but the risk of ruining that T-shirt forever.

"Hey Soap! The hell is going on here?" Price's voice sounds so close that both you and Johnny flinch and turn around at the same time. "She's holding me by force! And you still ask me what happened?" Soap sounds fierce, but his posture shifts, and he unconsciously shields you from Price, who is looking from him to you. 

"Sorry, Captain. It's all right, the Sergeant and I were just joking." You answer, turning away from Price. But nothing ever escapes John. He walks around Soap, catches up with you and looks into your eyes. "You've been crying." It's not even a question, it's a statement. Price sees your reddened eyes, swollen eyelids. He also knows that you almost never cry. You want to be a good soldier so much, you look up to him and Ghost, you never let your emotions get the better of you. But if something brings you to tears... Something or someone... It's really bad.

“Gonna ask it once…” Prices eyes pierce right through the mask of dumb jolliness, you desperately try to put on. “What happened?” You try to come with anything, but your best shot just sounds pathetic “It's just an allergy, Captain…”

“Allergy my ass…” - Price walks around you and comes back to Soap. “Ok, Sergeant, let's see if you have anything better for me… Same question, I'm waiting.” 

You look at Soap with a mute pleading, but he does not notice this, his eyes are riveted to Price. “She was dumped today. I wanted to find the bastard and have a word with him.” Soaps voice is still harsh from your fight. You shut your eyes and let go of his T-shirt at last. Price slowly exhales. You know that sound. A quiet long exhalation, a harbinger of a storm. “Who?” - Johns` voice sounds cold and distant.

“Your guess is as good as mine. She doesn't tell, so I was heading to the barracks to find out myself.” Soap finally looks at you, his gaze is absolutely fierce, as if rejecting you was some kind of personal insult to him. 

Price turns around to you once more. One word is enough for him to express both a question and an ominous threat. “Name.” You shake your head, not daring to look up at him. 

John clearly doesn't want so sound menacing to you. And if Soap wasn't around, Price would already wrap you in a tight embrace to hide you from your own pain. But the fact, that someone dared to hurt, to reject you, his little treasure (and it doesn't matter, that the last night you turned 22), makes his blood boil with rage. Of course, he is overprotective as your father, but he believes, it's you, who deserves to choose partners, and they just have to be eternally happy and grateful for your attention. You understand, that your problems have just doubled up… Now both Soap and Price are waiting for you to drop the name, and every next moment of silence seems to only make it worse.

“I need the name, kid. Now, there won't be any fights, we'll just talk. Nice and calmly… And if that bloody moron just happens to slip and fall on the Sergeant's fist - I may not notice …” your Captains` voice was quiet, menacingly quiet. Johnny didn't look any friendlier, his posture was tense and his eyes - furious. You bite your tongue, afraid to say a word. “As you wish. Off to the barracks we head then,” commands Price, and they walk past you.

In a fit of desperation, you take off and rush after them. "Wait! There's no need to 'talk' to anyone, please... It was Sarah... from the office."

They both stop in their tracks and look at each other. This... changed a lot. Of course, they still care about you and want to help, but now, obviously, they will have to reconsider their plans. Soap looks completely lost, Price checks time and rises his gaze back at you. 

"In two hours, both of you. My office." Johns` voice is echoing in your head as they both leave you alone. It's hard to even roughly imagine what awaits you and why John also needed Soap. Perhaps the Captain just wanted to lecture you about relationships at work, and so he invited Johnny, who had several... similar experiences.

But when you and Soap meet on the threshold of Price's office at the appointed time, the captain silently nods to his desk with three empty glasses and a flask. The rest of the evening, these two vied with each other to tell you about different failures in their personal lives. At first you feel awkward, but gradually you relax. Some stories make you sigh sadly, others are so funny that you almost choke with laughter. Little by little, you're feeling less pain from being dumped. Yes, maybe you didn't get someone, you wanted, but you have John and Johnny, who are not embarrassed to tell you the most silly and sad personal stories, just to make you feel less alone even in such a situation.

When you leave Price's office, both you and Johnny's faces are flushed with constant laughter. He puts his hand on your shoulder and says: “Hey, don`ya spend y`tears on that dafty, ok? She lost more than you today! We'll find you a nice lass or lad, that papa Price approves of!” You almost fall over in surprise. Nobody but Ghost knew that Price had ever adopted you. Here at the military base, you and Price were just colleagues.

"What, you think m`blind?" Soap stops and stares at you. "The captain takes care of everyone in his own way, but arranging something like this... The last time, I was in a similar situation - the man just filled me up with paperwork so that I had no energy left for anything else." When he puts it that way, it darts to be obvious to you too: you may kept your secrets, but the way you and Price cared for each other was sometimes on the surface. “Johnny… I don't know, how to put it right, but we really try to keep it…” 

“Keep just to yourselves? Dinae worry, I get it.” He smirks. “Price is protecting you and so will I from now on. So, ma mouths shut.” 

And Johnny keeps his word: he never mentions how you are related to Price, never publicly reminisces about that evening at Captains office. And he also starts a whole operation to find and select the perfect candidate for you, but that's a whole another story.

[xo-urban]

Poly relationship with Soap, ghost and male reader enjoying themselves on a winter day? 👀

Winter Day Hcs

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Male Reader x John ‘Soap’ Mactavish

This week had been one hell of a ride, so the three of you had time to sit back and relax.

The morning you woke up was to Soap shaking you awake, giving you those goddamn puppy eyes and you of course answered to him.

It was snowing outside and it’s been a while since you’ve last seen it. Soap wanted you and him to go run out in the snow and have fun like you were kids again while Ghost protested the idea once he awoke.

Ghost being the ‘responsible’ man of your polyamorous relationship stayed inside brewing up some kind of soup and some coffee (Or a hot chocolate if you’re in sweeter things!)

You and Soap bundled up in your warmest gear, leaving the base after giving Ghost all the affection so he wouldn’t miss the two of you for too long.

Running around in the snow was a great time, falling down because of one another, building a glorious snowman (Which was pretty lopsided) and a failed igloo.

Ghost watched from inside with an amused smile at the both of you having fun in the cold weather.

Soon you found out the snow was perfect to make snowballs.. you can tell where that went when the snowy wonderland became a makeshift warzone as you and Soap threw large compacted snow at each other in glee.

By the time you both went inside, it was clear you two had a cold and needed to get warmed up after acting like kids. “You needn’t throw it at my face!” “You were in the way of it! 🙄 “ “You’re both idiots.”

Ghost was quick to wrap you both in blankets as he handed you the soup and hot drink he prepared with a smile, spoiling his two boyfriends with kisses and warm touches as well.

You and Soap ended up falling asleep by Ghost’s sides, sniffling and snoring comfortably in your sleep. Ghost wouldn’t admit but he found you and Soap adorable.

By the time he fell asleep, he’d already caught your cold and you all needed to take care of yourselves on these snowy days.

Now you’re all sick but you’re all sick together you damn cute bastards.

[rascal-xo]

Tactical Cuddling during a a blizzard with ghost to keep warm and alive that turns into romantic cuddling and words of affection? If that's too soft maybe add some reader being half frozen to death?

Stone Cold | Simon Riley x Reader |

Chapter summary: After being split up during a mission, the hopes of finding each other again begin to fade with each passing hour…

Warnings: fluff, kinda angst, just pure :((

Tags: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasure @pukbadger

A/N: I hope you enjoy!! Lmk what you think :)

You huddle in the desolate corners of a long abandoned cabin, the bitter cold seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls. The howling wind outside whips the snow into a frenzy, blurring your vision as it dances in the air.

Shivering uncontrollably, you cling to the flickering hope that the Lieutenant will find you soon.

The mission had taken an unexpected turn, separating you and Ghost amidst the treacherous snowy mountains. The communication devices had failed, leaving you stranded without any means of contact. With each passing hour, your body grows weaker, and frostbite threatens to claim your extremities.

The makeshift fire in the hearth casts feeble shadows on the walls, providing minimal warmth. Your breath forms icy puffs in the frigid air, a constant reminder of the unknown dangers lurking outside. You wrap your arms around yourself, desperately trying to conserve what little heat remains.

You clutch your chest, feeling the steady thump of your heartbeat against your weak and frozen fingertips. The sound is a lifeline, a reminder that you're still alive, but it's growing fainter, weaker.

You suddenly hear shot outside. Your ears stand up at the piercing sound. With sheer willpower, you rise from the floor, limbs heavy and uncooperative. Every step is a battle against the biting cold, but you press on. You stumble towards the door, feeling the gust of wind slice through your clothes. The icy touch pierces your skin, but you trudge forward, leaving the shelter behind.

Through the swirling snowflakes, you catch a glimpse of movement. A figure emerges from the blizzard, their silhouette becoming clearer with each step. “Gho- GHOST!” Your voice is like corse sandpaper against the walls of your throat, as you finally make out the skull mask in the distance.

“Y/N!” He quickly catches up to you. You collapse into his arms, and he holds you up easily as ever. “Thought I’d lost ya for good, Sergeant.” Ghost holds you up, his deep voice filled with relief and concern.

You cling to Simon, feeling his sturdy presence enveloping you, grounding you amidst the chaos. The sound of his voice resonates keeps you from slipping into the dark, a lifeline that pulls you back from the brink. “We need to get you inside now, you’ll freeze to death.”

He moves you back into the small cabin, throwing his gear down. Ghost makes sure you’re steady before sitting you onto the tattered cushion you had been collapsed on moments before.

He kneels beside you, his gaze fixed on your pale face. Ghost's hands cup your chilled cheeks, his touch sending shivers of both cold and comfort through your body. "Y/N, keep your eyes open," he says, his voice firm yet laced with concern. "Stay with me."

You fight against the heaviness threatening to pull you into unconsciousness. He looks around, his eyes finally landing on his pack. He rushes over pulling the sleeping bag off of it.

Before you’re able to comprehend he’s already lifting you into the insulated pad. Every movement feels rigid on your fragile muscles and sore bones. You almost wished you were unconscious, atleast you wouldn’t have to feel the cold.

Without a second thought, he carefully maneuvers himself into the sleeping bag beside you, his body heat radiating through the thin barrier between you.

The sudden presence of Ghost beside you sends a jolt of warmth coursing through your veins. His strong, solid frame acts as a shield against the frigid air, his body heat seeping into your chilled skin.

His arm slides gently beneath your head, cradling you close as he presses his body against yours. The sleeping bag becomes a shared refuge, a sanctuary from the biting cold that threatens to consume you.

After a few beats of silence, you rasp, your voice barely audible above the wind outside. "You have to go on without me.”

Your body is beginning to shut down on you. Even the smallest of breaths feel like mountains on your lungs.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m not leaving you up here.”

“You’re losing time. We both know i’m not gonna make it” You wince at the straining in your throat with every word.

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face taut with conflicting emotions. Ghost's gaze never wavers from yours, his eyes filled with a fierce resolve. "Fucks sake, No mission is worth losing you," he declares, his voice steady and unwavering. "I’m not leaving."

You reach up, your trembling hand brushing against the frosted fabric of his balaclava. Maybe it’s the impending doom or maybe it’s the proximity to him, but your lips form into a weak smile.

You take a shuddering breath, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when the Captain said our careers would only go up from here.” A small chuckle follows but you immediately double down with pain in your ribs.

He watches you intently, unbeknownst to you a smile of his own forms under his mask. You take a steadying breath, mustering your strength despite the agony that courses through your body.

“Thank you.” You whisper, unwelcome tears now seeping into your eyes. Your hands now cupping the sides of his face. You feel yourself slipping away but still holding on barely to him. He moves his hand up to yours, pulling the balaclava over his head.

His skin is touched by the cold, but his eyes burn with intensity. You manage a weak smile, your fingertips tracing the contours of his cheek. The tears that well in your eyes mirror the pain and acceptance that reside within your heart.

“Stay with me, Love. Please” He says, just above a whisper. The tears that well in your eyes mirror the pain and acceptance that reside within your heart.

As you slip further into the grasp of unconsciousness, your grip on Ghost weakens. The slow beats of your heart thump against his other hand, so slow that it’s agonizing for him to bare.

And soon the world fades away from you, consumed by the relentless cold.

[glittergoblinzz]

When the Fire Devours Everything We Are....I'll Hold You Close

09!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader

CW: Character Death, Angst, light intimate moment mentions, Canon Divergence, bittersweet ending....

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: You, Captain MacTavish and Ghost go to rescue Prisoner 6-2-7 from the gulag so you can draw Makarov out of hiding. Everything goes smoothly until it doesn't....

-------------------------------

"See 'em over there? At 2 'o clock? Take 'em out."

You nod, aiming your silenced sniper towards the two tangos that were patrolling the West side of the gate. With two swift hits of your trigger, the enemy soldiers went down. Ghost moved out from position, behind a snowy bush, as he went to go bury the bodies in snow so they wouldn't be discovered anytime soon.

Then he went over to your position, not too far away just slightly to the South. You get up from the ground, brushing the snow off your uniform and slinging your sniper around your shoulder before taking your assault rifle out.

"Good work, luv. Quick and clean like usual. Proud of ya..."

Ghost pats your shoulder as he gently presses his forehead to yours, his usual gesture of affection towards you, before he pulls away and starts heading for the gate of the gulag. You're quick to follow.

You, Ghost and Captain MacTavish were out in the middle of Russia, at a gulag to retrieve a prisoner only known a "6-2-7", someone who Vladimir Makarov hated more than the Western World itself. Your team, Task Force 141, figured if you could get the person out, it would draw Makarov out from what dirty, rotten hole he was hiding in.

So, General Shepherd gave the okay and sent the whole Task Force in, along with some air support from the American Air Force. The job was simple, not much different from what your team usually does. You've cleared bases, rescued hostages, took down dangerous terrorists....so this mission should be a piece of cake. Or it should've been....

The team made it in without a hitch, taking out the numerous guards and soldiers that were stationed out in the prison's field and towers. Once inside the prison, Ghost stays behind in the control center to help guide you and the rest of the team through the prison to where Prisoner 6-2-7 was being held.

"Good luck in there, lovie. Come back to me safe ya hear?"

Those were the last words Ghost had said to you before you and the rest of the team went down further into the prison. At a few points, you and the boys were pinned down by enemy forces. Though Captain MacTavish and yourself along with Roach, Ogre and Worm made quick work of them all. With Ghost's help from inside the control room, he remotely opened doors and sealed the ones behind you so the enemies couldn't follow.

Your mission ended up taking you to the very depth of the prison, through its sewer systems and whatnot. Eventually Ghost guides you all to a wall, and together with MacTavish, Roach breaches it. Behind the wall was an unsuspecting guard, but before any one of you could take him out, a shadowy figure came up to the guard and wrapped a chain around their neck, pulling them in for a brutal headlock.

The person used the guard as a human shield, coming up to Roach and punching him to the ground. He takes the gun off the guard, breaking their neck before taking aim at Roach. Captain MacTavish comes up behind the man and aims his own gun at him before a look of realization hits him. His thick, Scottish accent slightly quivering as he speaks up.

"Price....?"

The man looks away from Roach briefly, lowering his gun just a little.

"Soap?"

Price's voice was gruff, and he looked extremely rugged from being locked up in the gulag for so long. He looks at Roach once more before putting his gun away and offering the mute soldier his hand to help him up.

Worm looks between the two of them, a confused look on his face.

"Soap? Who the hell is Soap?"

Before Price or Captain MacTavish could respond to that, the whole building shakes violently. You grab onto a nearby table for support as the walls begin to crack and chunks of the ceiling begin crashing down. Your heart skips a beat as you realize Ghost was still up near ground level, closest to the points of impact. Captain MacTavish gives an annoyed grunt before speaking into his comms.

"Shepherd? What the hell's going on? The Americans weren't supposed to bomb this place until we had left!"

"Sorry, MacTavish. The Americans got tired of waiting. There was nothing I could do."

That was bullshit. You knew it and the look on Captain MacTavish's face shown that he knew it too.

"Bloody Yanks. I thought they were supposed to be the good guys."

Upon hearing Ghost speak up, the worries you felt just moments ago faded....but only slightly. He may have been closer to the surface than the rest of you but that doesn't mean he was safe just yet. The prison could come toppling down on top of him as well as the rest of you.

"Easy, Ghost. We can complain about it later. First we need to get out of here."

MacTavish said as he started to lead the team out. You all went down a corridor before another shockwave hit, causing the corridor to collapse at the end and forcing you all to go back and find a different route.

After a few close calls and a couple encounters with what was left of the guards, you and the team eventually make it back to the prison yard where Nikolai was waiting for his helicopter. Roach, Price, Captain MacTavish and yourself load up into the helicopter while the others go and do a round to make sure there were no other guards around.

"Wait, where's Ghost? Paps, go back in and check for him."

You nod at Captain MacTavish's orders and hop out of the helicopter. The thought of finding your teammate and boyfriend dead in the gulag gnawed at the back of your head but you manage to suppress it as you make your way back into the prison.

In the middle of the hall towards the control room, you see a couple of guards kneeling down beside something. You quickly realize it was Ghost. You yell out, getting their attention. Before they could realize what was happening, you had already put multiple bullets in them.

Sprinting over, you kneel down beside Ghost and immediately check for a pulse. A sigh of relief escapes your lips when you feel his pulse still steady and strong beneath your fingers. Though, worry quickly moves in when you see that his balaclava had a good sized blood stain at the top of his head. Carefully, you remove his sunglasses and then the balaclava from him, revealing the familiar face you had fallen in love with years ago. His dark hair slightly frizzled due to the balaclava coming off and his hazel eyes shut.

Your eyes immediately take notice of the trail of blood flowing down the side of his face. It seems like Ghost has gotten hit in the head with some of the fallen debris earlier while you and the rest of the  team were making your escapes.

Other than that, you don't see any other injuries on him which was a relief....though, his vest was taken off and his jacket slightly open. You don't pay much attention to this as you're more focused on getting him help. Carefully getting him up, you drag him along back outside of the prison. On the way, you could hear a slight groan coming from Ghost.

"Aaagh....what happened?"

Ghost looks over to you, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"Who the bloody hell are you? Why are you dragging me?"

Your heart sinks as you hear these words. Your boyfriend of five years didn't know who you were. Not once did you expect for this to happen. Finding him dead? Yeah...but not finding him with amnesia. You let Ghost go when he pulls away from you, a look of distrust in his eyes.

"Simon, listen...I know you're confused right now and might not know who I am, but please trust me. I'm trying to get you out of here so I can get you some medical treatment. You've been injured...."

You slowly reach out and gently touch the tender wound on the side of Ghost's head, causing him to wince slightly. The look of distrust doesn't leave his eyes.

"How can I know ya ain't just lying to me?"

Sighing, you reach into your pocket and take out a photo you always carry. It's from your first anniversary together. Simon had surprised you with a pet rat, one that looked exactly like the one you had used to own when you were a little kid. He knew you adored animals, especially rats, and that the one you had as a child meant a lot to you before it "ran away" (that was what your parents told you).

The photo showed Simon holding you from behind, his head resting on your shoulder as you held the rat, Copia, in your hands. All three of you looked happy and content in that moment.

Ghost takes the picture from you and looks at it for a moment before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I don't remember this....but I can't deny that that ain't me there. So, I guess perhaps you are telling tha truth? Fine. Get me out of here, I suppose."

Nodding, you guide Ghost back out of the prison and towards the helicopter where the others were waiting.

"Bloody hell, lass/lad. What the hell 'appened to him?"

You shake your head and look at Captain MacTavish with a sorrowful expression.

"He got hit in the head with some debris when the Americans hit the prison with those missiles. He....can't remember anything."

Captain MacTavish eyes go wide for a brief second in surprise before a sympathetic look replaces it.

"I see. We'll get him help. Don't you worry. He'll be the Ghost you once knew again...."

You get into the helicopter and Ghost follows after you, sitting right by you and near the open door. Soon enough, you all are up in the air and flying across the ocean to head back to base once more.

You sit in silence for a good while, anxiety starting to build up in you as you think about what will happen now. Will Ghost get his memories back? What if he doesn't? What if he doesn't and starts a new life without you? The thoughts quickly eat away at you and you could feel your stomach begin to churn more and more.

Yet, you're suddenly pulled out of those thoughts when you feel a slight nudge. You look over towards Ghost, who was looking at you with a worried expression.

"You alright there?"

You nod before looking away again. Ghost is silent for a moment before speaking to you again.

"I may not remember you, but that doesn't I don't want to try in remembering you. I want to remember everything....and even if I can't remember, I'd like to get to know you again. Would...that be alright?"

You look back at Ghost, a little more hopeful now. You nod, a small smile on your face.

"Yeah....that would-"

You're stopped when a faint beep could be heard. It was faint and barely audible over the sound of the helicopter, but you could still just barely hear it. You wait, and another beep. Then another. They were in succession, every second.

"Do....you hear that?"

Ghost nods. You both look around before you realize the beeping was coming from Ghost himself. You look over him and take note of his jacket.

"Ghost....pull your jacket zipper down."

When he goes to pull his zipper down, it becomes evident that its stuck. You reach over and give it a tug, but it wouldn't budge. The beeps continue and you start to get worried. The others have noticed the two of you now and Captain Price speaks up.

"Oi, no getting frisky on a mission you two."

You roll your eyes and give the zipper another tug. Still stuck. You frown and decide to just put your finger through the collar of his jacket, pulling it away from his neck so you can peer down into the jacket. All color drains from your face once you see the flashing red light that goes off with every beep.

"Bomb....he's got a damn bomb strapped to him!"

Everyone in the helicopter was now on edge. Captain MacTavish gets up and goes over.

"What the bloody hell do you mean he has a bomb on him?"

You move away slightly to give Captain MacTavish room to peep down Ghost's jacket as well. Sure enough, the Scottish Captain sees the red flashing of the bomb with each tick.

"Christ...get that fookin' jacket off of him!"

"You think we haven't tried?! It's stuck!"

You give the jacket zipper another tug. And another....then the zipper breaks. Panic washes over not just you but Ghost as well. His eyes were wide and looking at you, silently pleading for you to help him.

Just barely visible, you could see the faint outline of the timer.

14....13....12...

"Fuck, 10 seconds....!"

Panicking, you try and lift the jacket off of him but it's no use. It was too form fitting, not allowing it to be pulled off overhead.

You look at the rest of the team before looking at Ghost.

"I'm sorry....I love you, Si...."

Taking a deep breath, you grab Ghost and press your forehead to his in the same gentle manner he always did with you....before throwing him out of the helicopter door. The look on his face, the pained expression of knowing he was going to die, it broke your heart. Much more than it would have if you had just found him dead back at the prison.

Not more than three seconds after you tossed him, the bomb goes off. You see the flames engulf his body, and the shockwave of the explosion shakes the helicopter violently. It's tough, and the helicopter almost goes down into the ocean below, but Nikolai just barely manages to steady it out and it's a smooth ride once again.

All the others in the helicopter are giving you sympathetic looks. Captain MacTavish sits next to you and gently places his hand on your shoulder.

"I...I'm sorry, lass/lad. I'm sure he understood that there wasn't any other choice. You did what was right. There wasn't any saving him..."

You don't say or do anything in response. All you could do was just sit there and stare at the spot where Ghost had just been sitting with you.

.

.

.

.

.

The weeks flew by. Everything was a blur. You acted more like a robot than a person; always keeping to yourself, doing exactly what you were told without question. The funny, snarky soldier the team once knew was gone. You had blamed yourself for what happened to Ghost, despite Captain MacTavish and Price telling you it wasn't your fault. If you had just checked that damn jacket when you first noticed it slightly opened after those guards had kneeled down beside him, you keep telling yourself....They weren't making sure he was dead....they were planting a damn bomb on him as a last ditch effort to take the rest of the Task Force out.

Captain MacTavish and Price wanted you off the team, to put you on mandatory leave so you could go get help; go to therapy. General Shepherd, however, wouldn't allow it. Instead, he assigned you and Roach to go to Makarov's safehouse in the Caucasus mountains of the Georgian-Russian border to try and hunt that bastard down.

So off the two of you went along with other members of the Task Force. Price and MacTavish were elsewhere, off at some other location Makarov was known to hide away at.

You, Roach and the team easily take Makarov's men down before heading into the safehouse. You don't find Vladimir Makarov anywhere but you do find his computer. Upon informing Shepherd, Roach takes out the DSM to download the Intel on the terrorist's computer. More of Makarov's men arrive so you and the other team members get to protecting Roach and the DSM. After about thirty grueling minutes of gunfight, the DSM finishes downloading the information and Roach grabs it.

The two of you then head towards the rendezvous point where General Shepherd had told you to meet at, while the others kept Makarov's men at bay. Eventually you two make it, just in time to see Shepherd's helicopter land and him stepping out from the back of it.

"Did you two secure the DSM?"

"Yes, sir we did."

You say as Roach hands the DSM off to Shepherd. The General takes a drag from his lit cigar before grabbing the DSM module.

"Good. That's one loose end tied up...."

Before either of you can react, General Shepherd pulls his .44 magnum out and shoots Roach in the chest, killing the mute soldier instantly.

Your eyes widen as you quickly reach for your rifle....but Shepherd nonchalantly turns his magnum to you and shoots you in the chest as well, barely missing your heart by a few inches. You collapse, gasping for breath as blood begins to flood your lungs.

Shepherd's private PMC, Shadow Company, swiftly came up. They began dragging Roach's body over to a hole not far off in the field, then picked you up and tossed you right by Roach. The mercs began to pour gasoline over the two of you, the liquid burning the wound in your chest. Despite the gut wrenching pain, you didn't scream. You couldn't.

You glance up at Shepherd, your body beginning to grow tired and your eye lids feeling heavier due to the lack of oxygen. The General glances down right back at you, an indifferent look on his face.

"Don't worry. It wasn't anything personal, kid...."

He takes one last drag of his cigar before tossing it onto Roach's body. Flames quickly began to spread across the corpse, the smell of burning flesh overwhelming your senses. Though, it slowly begins to fade as you feel yourself begin to slip....you close your eyes and wait.

You lay there, waiting for the flames to reach your body; waiting for the excruciating pain to spread throughout your body. But it never comes. You open your eyes and sit up. No pain shoots through your body. Hell, you could even breathe. Confused, you sit up and look around. You were sitting in a field, a different field than the one that you were killed in.

Killed...

You were dead. And General Shepherd had been the one who killed you.

You balled your hands up into fists, gripping at the grass beneath you. You were dead, that was for sure. There wasn't a bloody gunshot wound on your chest, and Roach's burning corpse was nowhere to be seen. A rush of emotions filled you. Anger, sadness, sorrow, confusion.....

You were pissed at General Shepherd for betraying you and Roach. You were sad that someone you thought you could trust had turned out to be a lying snake. You couldn't understand why he would even do that in the first place. The two of you did everything that he had told you to do, no questions asked. So why did General Shepherd betray you and Roach?

Roach....

Your close and valued teammate. He was your and Ghost's best friend. All three of you would goof around on base, go out for drinks during leave....Roach, of all people, did not deserve to go out like that. You couldn't help but feel absolutely horrible for him.

As you say there in the tall grass, drowning in your thoughts, a figure slowly walked up behind you.

"Lovie, you're not supposed to be here. Not yet...."

Your head perks up, and if your heart could still beat, you knew it would be beating it's way out of your chest. You get up and slowly turn around, your eyes going wide with the sight of Ghost standing there. Another wave of emotions hit you and you're not sure if you could handle it all...

Ghost recognizes the pain in your eyes and takes a few more steps towards you before wrapping his arms around you in a gentle, protective manner.

"Simon, I'm sorry....I'm so sorry....The bomb, the helicopter....I-I didn't have any other choice, I-"

"Shhhh, it's okay. It's alright. You saved the lives of the others. You did what was right; you didn't put our relationship above the mission, above our team. I don't blame you, luv. I'm proud of you."

You wrap your arms around him, returning the soft embrace. You could only nod, knowing that if you said another word then you'd probably break down. You and Ghost stay like that for a moment, relishing in being able to hold each other once more before he pulls away.

All the memories you two created over the years come flooding back. You remember your first kiss; how his lips felt against yours. You remember the first time you two laid in bed together; how good it felt when he rolled his hips into you, stretching you out with his length. The small little moments of the two of you watching TV, or having dinner together.

All of that was gone. It had been for a while now....but now the two of you had each other again, and you were fine with that. Fine with being dead and gone knowing that you'd at least get to have him with you once again.

Ghost reaches for your cheek, cupping it as he gently strokes it with his thumb. His hazel eyes stared into your own, the love and affection in them evident.

"Now. Why don't you tell me what I've missed? We've got all the time in the world...."

___________________________________

Gaaahh this was a long one! I spent all day writing it out. Last night I dreamt that Ghost had gotten hit with a piece of debris during the end part of 'The Gulag' mission from OG MW2, which gave him some amnesia. Then on the helicopter ride, discovered the enemies had found him knocked out and decided to place explosives on him to try and wipe out the rest of TF141 since they knew they wouldn't be able to.

I thought that would have been a good idea for a mini fic, so....here we are.

The last bit with reader dying was something I came up with on a whim.

Also, remember that my requests ARE OPEN so if you want me thoughts on certain characters, my headcanons, or a mini fic request, just shoot me an ask! ☺️ (Also there's a couple references in this fic. Whoever gets 'em gets a cookie 🍪. The title is one of them!)

[lamentable-comedy]

The thing about Baz is that he's so good at not having the things he wants, but in a way that, like. Isn't repressing that he wants it in the first place. He acknowledges the desire, but denies any fulfillment of it and gets really, really good at doing that. His whole thing is carefully and deliberately maintaining a very rigid self control to compensate for how much of himself he feels like he is powerless over. You can't control the want, it's always gonna be there, but you can tell yourself it won't happen and refuse to consider indulging it.

He spends years knowing he's in love with Simon but wholeheartedly believing it's impossible that anything would happen between them AND, moreover, that it shouldn't. That second part is the important one, cause Baz isn't just against wanting things for its own sake, he's really hard on himself for wanting things that he thinks he shouldn't want or doesn't deserve. Like, "oh we can't have that, so it's Bad to want it". I think that's why there's less of the "I'm depraved, ask anyone" vibe to Baz's attraction to Simon in the second two books. I think he's still interested the same stuff with Simon, but because he now knows he can actually have a relationship with Simon, he's no longer moralizing wanting that, which I think leads to him being less likely to frame it as depravity in his own mind.

Also, if it wasn't obvious... this is a vampire thing. Like, Baz is like this because his daily existence is defined by craving something which would be morally wrong to take and which he therefore will never allow himself AND ALSO, Baz's vampirism is a really great metaphor for this part of his character. He forces himself to get by on more or less the bare minimum amount of blood. He doesn't drink humans. He can't control the desire for it, but it's an immoral desire and one he doesn't want, so he restricts himself as much as possible surrounding it. He never denies that the desire is there-- he can't-- but he DOES moralize wanting it; the fact that he wants to drink blood makes him an irredeemable monster who is unworthy of love and whom any Good Person would have killed. As a result, deny himself fulfillment becomes a way to punish himself (the Right Thing to do), for a desire he's disgusted by, and so he denies himself as much as possible, even beyond the extents of the desire itself.

Baz is ashamed of hunting and drinking animals, but he doesn't need to be. He's not doing anything worse than a human who hunts for food. But, because it betrays the deeper desire for human blood, it becomes shameful and something to deny himself when, really, it's neutral. Positive even, if you consider that it's a way of not, you know. Doing a murder. Compare Baz's perspective on it (not wanting Simon to see him drink rats, knowing what the bare minimum he needs to survive is in a way that clearly implies that he's tried only drinking that) to Simon's in "Snow for Christmas", where he expresses admiration and affection for how Baz looks feeding. Simon's perspective is devoid of Baz's moralizing self-loathing, and presents his behaviour without the baggage Baz has placed on it. Denying himself animal blood is not necessary and serves no purpose. Caring for himself by feeding is admirable.

I see Baz learning to control his fangs when he eats, on a metaphorical level, as a step in learning to manage the kind of big, desperate want that he moralizes and then denies himself, which itself lets him inch a little toward lessening the shame he feels. He moderates the desire (controls his fangs) rather than restricting his actions (not eating in front of people). This allows him decouple the desire (vamp hunger) from unrelated activities that he attaches to it (eating food), and actually let himself partake in something that previously felt wrong (eat food without revealing his fangs). His desire for blood is immoral, so he can't have that. All hunger is now associated with hunger for blood, so he can't eat around humans because he can't reveal that he wants something that he's Not Allowed to want.

I don't think the end point of his progress on this is indulging in the desires he feels ashamed of. Sometimes there are reasons not to do something you can't help wanting to do (there are some pretty good reasons not to go around drinking humans). I do think Baz needs to be gentler on himself for wanting things that for whatever reason-- shame, self-hatred, what have you-- he believes he shouldn't want. He only does this with his love for Simon because it's reciprocated, which doesn't actually solve the problem, it just recategorizes Simon/their relationship as something okay to want. He needs to learn to stop punishing himself for wanting things even if they're desires he can't or shouldn't act on. I think by AWTWB he has made progress. He's getting there. But MAN do I have a lot of feelings about the fact that he's like this at all.