For those who were asking for a yearning Simon fic⌠enjoy, my loves.
You always said it with a laugh or a shrugââHeâll be fine,â or âHe doesnât get attached.â God, if only you knew. If only you knew the mess youâd made of his head, the way youâd slipped into his bones and made a home there, the way he sat alone in his flat, in the dark, tracing the outline of your name in his mind like a fucking brand.
Heâd replay every conversation you two ever had like some lovesick teenager, except he wasnât a teenager; he was a fully grown man, a soldier no less, and here he wasâyearning.
Pathetic. He was pathetic.
Heâd think of calling, thumb hovering over your name on his phone, but heâd talk himself out of it every time. You were probably busy. You always were.
And he couldnât risk hearing you sound distracted or annoyed, couldnât bear the weight of you asking, âWhatâs wrong, Simon?â when the only thing wrong was that he missed you like air, and he was too much of a coward to say it.
Youâd always been easy with him, bright and teasing, calling him âRileyâ in that tone that made his skin tighten, poking at him when he got too serious. And God, he missed that. He missed your voice. He missed the way youâd glance up at him through your lashes when you were pretending not to be flirting. He missed everything.
And it wasnât like he was subtle about it. Everyone in his unit probably noticed the way heâd check his phone during downtime, the way heâd get quiet after you called, and the way his face would go soft and stupid when he thought no one was watching.
He wasnât stupid; he knew how he looked. He knew that Price would probably knock his head off if he found out he was falling for someone so hard it made his chest ache.
But it didnât matter. Because you werenât his.
And that was the worst part.
He was used to wanting things he couldnât haveâheâd grown up that way, used to pressing himself into the background and pretending he didnât need or want.
But you? You made it impossible. You made him think, just for a moment, that maybe he could have something soft. Something real. And now he was stuck in this loop of almosts and maybes and if onlys, stuck in the quiet that filled his flat when you werenât there.
Heâd pace sometimes, hand running over the back of his neck, thinking, Just call her. Just tell her. But the words always caught in his throat.
Until tonight.
He was standing in his kitchen, staring at his phone, and he just couldnât take it anymore. Couldnât stand the silence, couldnât stand the weight of his own wanting. So he called.
It rang once. Twice.
Then your voice came through, a little breathless and surprised. âSimon?â
His mouth was dry. âYeah. Uh. Sorry, I didnât mean to call so late.â
âNo, itâs fine. Are you okay?â
He let out a shaky breath, leaning against the counter. His chest hurt. His whole body felt tight, like he was holding something too big inside him.
âI justââ He stopped, swallowing hard. âI just missed you.â
The silence stretched out between you two until you said softly, âI missed you too, Simon.â
And it wasnât enough. It wasnât nearly enough, of course.
But for the first time in months, he let himself breathe.
He couldâve said more that night; he couldâve let the words fall out, but heâd bitten his tongue so hard he tasted blood. Couldnât risk scaring you off. Couldnât risk the silence that might follow if you didnât feel the same. So he just stood there with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to you breathe, telling himself it was enough.
It wasnât. Not by a long shot.
Days bled into weeks, and he was no better off. Every time you messaged himâjust something stupid, a meme or a âHey, did you see this?ââheâd feel that sharp sting behind his ribs, that warm pull like gravity.
Heâd reread your texts over and over, memorizing them like a man starving for scraps. Heâd type a reply, delete it, type it again, hover over send, and then finally hit it with a deep breath. You probably thought he was calm and collected, sitting there on the other side of the screen, when really he was a mess of nerves, thumb trembling, heart hammering so loud it echoed in his ears.
The worst part was seeing you.
When you two met up, it was just casual for youâtwo friends having a drink, just a quick catch-up. Youâd sit across from him in the booth, your legs brushing his under the table like it was nothing, your laugh cutting through the air sharp and clear.
Heâd nod along, trying to keep his hands steady, trying to act like his pulse wasnât racing every time you looked at him. Youâd lean in to show him something on your phone, and heâd catch a whiff of your perfume, something soft and warm that made his throat tighten.
And then, just when he thought he might get his shit together, youâd glance up at him with that look, that easy smile, and heâd feel himself unraveling all over again.
Heâd catch himself staring at your lips, at the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, at the way youâd brush your fingertips over the rim of your glass like you didnât even know what you were doing to him. And heâd hate himself for itâhate the way he wanted you, the way he craved something he couldnât have.
You were so close. So damn close. And yet, you werenât his.
Heâd lie in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, the dark pressing in around him. Heâd picture you, picture the curve of your smile, the warmth of your laugh, and the softness of your skin. Heâd imagine what it would feel like to just reach out and pull you into his arms, to bury his face against your neck and breathe you in, to finally, finally let himself have what he wanted.
But he wouldnât. Couldnât.
So heâd turn over, press his face into the pillow, and will himself to sleep.
The next day, heâd put on his mask again, and heâd text you back like everything was normal, like he wasnât dying inside. And heâd tell himself that it was enough. That this yearning was all he was ever going to get.
âł WHERE WE PART
Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader
Two souls, bound by a childhood of silent suffering, are pulled back to the city they both fled. After eighteen years apart, Simon Riley and the girl next door find each other again, drawn together by the weight of shared scars. In the quiet spaces between them, they seek the comfort they could never find alone, mending their broken hearts in the echoes of a past they can't forget.
Part 1. Roses Are Red
Part 2. When We Were
Part 3. Life Happens
âł Drabble 1. Simon
Part 4. Across The Years
âł Drabble 2. Simon
Part 5. Promise? Promise.
Part 6. Between Waiting Hearts
Part 7. Catching On
Part 8. A Place Without Partings
I was lying on my rug, which was made of fur, the kind of fur that makes your whole body relax. In the background, I could hear the flames of the fire dancing in the fireplace, casting light across the room. A book rested in my hands as I tried to focus on the words on the page, attempting to direct my mind onto something other than him.Â
A knock on the door breaks the silence. âCome in,â I say. I can see the snake-shaped handle of my door turning before it opens. I canât see the person clearly at first, but the flames from the fireplace illuminate his face. With heavy steps, he walks toward me. I stand up quickly, my book falling to the floor.Â
âYour Highness,â he says, kneeling before me in greeting, his head hung low.Â
âI told you to call me by my name,â I say, reaching down to cup his face in my hands. I raise his head so that he is looking at me. The dark circles under his eyes reveal that heâs not sleeping well. âDo you perhaps not sleep well?â I ask. Silence.Â
In response, his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me even closer to him. His head now rests against my chest. âNot without you,â he responds. âThe nights feel endless when you are not around. Itâs like I am lost, only waiting for the morning to come so I can feel whole again.âÂ
The knight remains kneeling, his hands trembling as he clutches my waist, as though afraid that if he lets go, I would disappear. My hand rests gently on the top of his head, trying to calm his racing mind. âYou can always come to me,â I say softly.Â
He remains kneeling before me, his hands still trembling as he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. There is a heavy silence between us, the weight of unspoken words thick in the air, as though it could suffocate us at any moment. His heart pounds in his chest, torn between his deepest longing and the responsibility tied to his duty.Â
After a long pause, he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. âMay... may I sleep with you tonight?â His words are filled with hesitation, a plea for comfort more than just physical. He is asking for something deeper, a moment of peace in a world full of turmoil and anger.Â
My breath catches, my heart racing as I look down at him. I can feel the weight of his pain, his loneliness, and the exhaustion in his voice.Â
âYou donât have to ask,â I whisper softly, my hands reaching down to gently lift his chin, so our eyes can meet. âIf you need me, Iâm here for you. Always.âÂ
Note: Who is ready for some Simon Riley angst? I fear he's vastly ooc...my apologies. Part 2 if people like it?
Warnings: angst, mentions of past abuse, Simon Riley hating himself
Summary: Y/N Riley wakes up alone in bed and wondering where her husband is, he's having a rough night and needs some reassurance.
Simon Riley was a complicated man, with a complicated past and most of it was unpleasant. During the day it was easy to keep the memories at bay, he kept himself busy, either on missions, training or with his wife Y/N. Nighttime was the worst. It was during the night that he often found himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling for hours on end as his memories poured, from missions gone bad, all the way back to his childhood. And they were vivid, so much so that he swore he could touch, feel and smell what was happening. There was a sadness which as the night wore on would turn into anger and sometimes fear. It was particularly bad on the nights immediately after returning from assignments. Tonight was one of those nights.
Y/N rolled over in her sleep, reaching for him to cuddle into his side, she was cold, and he was a furnaceâŚexcept he wasnât there, and his side of the bed was cold. She blinked rapidly, clearing the fog from her brain and letting her eyes focus and looking at the clock, just after 3 am.  Sure enough, he was gone, and she knew exactly where he would be. She swung her legs out of the bed, pulled on the pair of socks she had thrown on the floor before bed and grabbed Simonâs hoodie from the bottom of the bed, putting it on, it was so big that it covered her knees. Quietly, she made her way downstairs, bypassing the living room and heading directly for their basement. Before she even reached the stairs, she could hear him grunting and the rapid thumping of his fists violently attacking the punching bag he had set up ages ago.
As Y/N made it halfway down the stairs she could see he was sweating, Y/N could see it dripping off his bare back. She could tell heâd been down here for hours just by how exhausted he looked. She could also see that he hadnât wrapped his hands first, something sheâd begged him to do repeatedly. He often said that he was a broken man, a cold-hearted one, all Y/N saw though was a man who needed to be comforted and loved, and she was more than happy to provide it.
Y/N watched him for a few minutes, he had no idea that she was there, completely lost in his desire to beat the absolute hell out of the punching bag. If he was just down here working, Y/N would think it was hot, the mix of strikes, jabs and everything else he is doing, the sight of him without a shirt alone would do her inâŚBut Simon was clearly having a bad night, the sounds of his hands hitting the leather getting louder and more rapid. Y/N had to get him to stop before he hurt himself.
Y/N sighed quietly, knowing better than to startle him. That had happened once and only once, and it had not been pretty. She stayed back by the stairs before finally speaking up, just loud enough that she knew he would hear her.
âSimon? Come back to bed. Please?â She watched Simon freeze in place, his breathing heavy and ragged, fist remaining in the air as heâd been mid-punch, Y/N could already tell that his knuckles were going to be bruised from the relentless abuse Simon had inflicted. He took a deep breath before turning his head to look at Y/N with a look that could only be a mixture of anger, exhaustion and a hint of fear. He didnât say a word but lowered his hand.
 Y/N took his pause as permission to creep forward, moving slowly towards him before wrapping her arms around him from behind. âYou okay?â She asked, her hands resting on his stomach. She felt the muscles tense under her touch, but he didnât protest or remove them. Y/Nâs warmth was comforting against his back. A light in his darkness.
He didnât answer immediately, taking a moment to let silence pass between them before finally answering. âNo,â he admitted, his voice lower and hoarser than it usually was. Y/N squeezed him gently, he was being honest tonight, that was a good sign.
âOkay. What can I do to help?â she asked softly. Normally, Simon would say there wasnât anything she could do, that he was fine, and he was just blowing off steam.
Tonight however, Simon leaned back into Y/Nâs embrace, his shoulders relaxing under her touch and he let out a sigh, his exhausted seeping into his voice. âIâŚdonât know. âHe started. âI just needâŚâ He trailed off, he didnât know how to put into words what he needed, he wasnât used to expressing when he needed something/ His tough exterior hid his feelings well but in the rare moments like tonight he would allow the cracks in his armor show, but only for Y/N.
Y/N could feel the weight of his emotions, the struggle of a man who had spent most of his life burying his trauma and pain under a normally stoic demeanor. It had always been hard for him to open to people, here right now in the early hours of the morning he was letting his guard slip. He continued to lean against Y/N, seeking comfort in her embrace and craving the connection and comfort that only she could provide him.
Without letting go of him, Y/N maneuvered herself around him so that she was facing him. Slowly she traced her fingers up to his stomach, to his chest and finally rested them on his shoulders, or as well as she could, considering how small she was compared to his 6â4 frame.
 Simonâs gaze remained fixed on the floor, his eyes distant and unfocused. In her new position, Y/N could read his face more clearly, his brows were furrowed, and his lips were in a thin line, his jaw tense as he ground his teeth together. He didnât move away though, instead he leaned into her touch, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out and hold her but held himself back. Y/N trailed one hand down his right arm, all the way until she reached his hand, gently lifting it to inspect the damage.
 She tsked as she saw the angry cracks, blood and bruising of his knuckles. Caressing them gently she looked up at him sadly. âBaby, I really wish youâd at least wrap your handsâŚâ
Simon watched her with careful eyes, wincing slightly as her fingers ran over the sore spots. He knew heâd done this to himself, again, continuing his self-destructive pattern that they both knew so well.
âI know,â He mumbled, his voice sounding raw and gruff. âI justâŚneeded to feel something, anything, just something I could control.â He tried to pull his hand back, not wanting her to see the true extent of the damage heâd caused to himself.
Y/N shook her head. âPlease donât hide from me Simon.â
She watched as his jaw clenched, resignation and frustration clear on his face. He knew she was the last person he should hide from, but the fear of opening and being vulnerable, even to his wife, made him want to make a quick retreat. However, he allowed her to continue inspecting his hand, rough and callused, his hands were a testament to his military career and the battles fought both on and off the battlefield.
Y/N brought his hand up to her lips, kissing his knuckles gently before letting go and reaching for his left. She sighed when she saw that he had left his wedding ring on, if his knuckles were anymore swollen, she would have been concerned that it would have to be cut off. She caressed his left hand the same way she had done the right, before kissing it and leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck, her fingers moving to play in his short brown hair.
âI wish you trusted me enough to come to me on nights like this Simon, I can help. I know itâs hard and youâre stubborn, but I love you.â She said softly to him.
Simon shook his head. âI trust you,â He whispered, a slight crack in his voice. âI justâŚI canât lay this all on you Sunshine. I wonât burden you.â
Y/N smiled softly at him. âItâs not a burden Si, Iâm your wife, for better or for worse.â
Simonâs eyes met hers, conflict and pain fading from his gaze. Y/N always understood and accepted him, which only made him love her more, but it didnât stop him from feeling guilt for putting her through his often turbulent moods. His large hands moved to her hips, holding her close as if he was scared, sheâd disappear. He swallowed hard, trying to find the words. âI donât want to hurt you.â His voice is barely above a whisper. âI donât want to lose you.â His jaw was tense and his grip on her hips tightened, seeking some kind of reassurance from her. The vulnerability in his eye betrayed the usual façade of strength that he wore as a second skin.
Y/N gripped his arms, staring directly into his shining eyes. âYou arenât going to hurt me, and you certainly arenât going to lose me. You are stuck with me Simon Riley, in this lifetime and all others.â She promised softly.
Simon was never the sentimental type, but her words struck a chord deep within him. He pulled her closer, his large arms wrapping around her waist tightly as he buried his face in her neck taking a shaky breath and surrounding himself with her warmth like a safe haven. She could barely hear it but she froze when he heard him whisper. âI donât deserve you.â
Her heart broke a little, it wasnât the first time that heâd said it, but it was the first time she was letting him know that she heard it. âSimon, I want you to listen to me and listen good yeah?â I moved one hand to card through his hair. âYou deserve the world, you deserve to be loved, you deserve to be happy. I donât care what your bastard of a father told you when you were a kid.â
She watched him close his eyes. âBut Iâm broken love.â He murmured. âAfter everything Iâve done, everything Iâve seenâŚYou should be running for the hills.â
Y/N sighed sadly, tugging on his hand and leading him to the bench along the wall. âSit, youâre too tall for me to do this standing.â
He did as she asked, his body was too tired and aching after his latest mission and now having beat the hell out of the punching bag for hours. Once he was seated, Y/N moved to stand between his thighs, resting her hands on his shoulders. Simon looked up at her, just waiting.
âYou are not broken Simon, a little rough around the edges, but not broken.â I murmured. âI will always want you Simon, please never doubt that. You have seen terrible things and gone through so much bad shit. But youâve also spent your entire life trying to help people. You have saved thousands of lives and get no thanks for it. That takes an incredibly special kind of person.â
Y/N could see him readying himself to argue so she cut him off. âYou are my everything Simon, I would be lost without you, and I will spend every day making sure that you know it.â
Simonâs features softened and he reached up to pull her hands off his shoulders so that he could hold them. He had spent so long believing that he didnât deserve to be loved, but Y/Nâs unwavering devotion was a constant in his life now, even after 5 years together it surprised him. His grip tightened, his calloused fingers intertwined with her much smaller and softer one, he pulled her close so that he could embrace her fully.
 âDamn it, I really donât deserve you, Sunshine.â He murmured, his voice thick with emotions.
 Y/N rolled her eyes and snorted.  âI believe was just went over this, you do, and I will not accept that you donât, you stubborn man. I can be stubborn too you know.â
Simon let out a soft chuckle. He knew her too well and her stubbornness when it came to him was unyielding. He leaned his forehead against her stomach, a deep sigh escaping him. âIf only the world knew how stubborn my wife is.â
She smiled down at him, with one hand moving to his hair. âI have to be to be able to handle you.â
Simonâs eyes closed as he leaned against her, simply enjoying the closeness. He opened them again when she tugged on his hair gently. âCome on Si, letâs go to bed.â
He was exhausted and released the grip he had around her waist, and with a tired smile he nodded, letting her pull him up before he took her hand and led her up the basement stairs before taking the next set of stairs to the bedroom. The walk was slow and silent, Simonâs body was weary, his usual confident stride replaced with a sluggish pace. Once in the bedroom he lowered himself slowly onto the bed, groaning as he did.
Y/N watched carefully, his normally sharp and alert gaze was weighed down by physical and mental fatigue. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with movement. His gaze turned to hers and he patted the spot beside him. âCome on love,â
Y/N slid under the covers with him, immediately settling into his arms, head on his chest, his wrapped around her back. She started drawing small patterns on his chest with her finger. âSi?â
He turned his head to look at her in the darkness, just barely making out the shape of her. âYes love?â he asked with a squeeze of his arm.
âI love you.â
She felt Simon immediately relax. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he leaned just enough to press a gentle kiss onto her lips. âI love you too,â he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. âMore than you could ever imagine.â
Listen...I have no idea what this is. I'm not entirely sure how we got from point A to point B. My brain had an inkling of an idea, and the story ran away with it. In Soviet Russia, story controls YOU.
CW: ANGST, domestic abuse, Simon Riley's shitty childhood, a hint of thoughts and musings on the nature of evil, character deaths (including death of a child), Simon blaming himself, my allergy to using names even when it's obvious who it's about, pretentious use of language and mixed metaphors, abrupt tone change may cause whiplash, I have no idea where the fluff came from, seriously how did this become a hallmark movie, I hope no one's lactose intolerant because this is CHEESY
Word count: holy shit it's 1.4k how did that happen
He thinks his parents must have loved each other, once.
Heâd found a photo of them when he was a child, whilst scouring every inch of their too-small flat, trying to scrounge enough money for even a loaf of bread. It was an old photograph, creased and dog-eared, like it had once been taken out to be admired often; now it lay discarded at the bottom of a drawer, as forgotten as the take out menus and bills that had buried it.
They were much younger in the photo; perhaps not long out of high school, and they were both smiling. He didnât think heâd ever seen his mother smile like that â wide, toothy and carefree, as though nothing could ever darken her skies; so different from the tight lipped imitations she gave these days, a poor attempt to prove that everything was fine when both she and her children knew it was anything but.
As for his father, it was hard to believe that his face was capable of anything other than unadulterated rage, or the sneer of contempt he so often directed towards those around him, the sick look of satisfaction as he loomed over his victims. He would barely have recognised him if it werenât for his eyes. There was something in them even then that he could recognise; perhaps the beginning of whatever madness took hold of him, twisted him into the demon that tormented the same woman he had once looked at so fondly. Or perhaps it had been there all along, just waiting for the right moment, the crack in the veneer of civility; waiting for the right moment for the trap to click shut and the noose to tighten.
That photograph would sometimes come back to haunt him in some of the worst moments; when he watched the fear creep into his motherâs eyes at the sound of the front door slamming, every time she shuffled him and Tommy to their room, took the brunt of their fatherâs ire for them, with every bloom of a bruise that she tried to hide. It taunted him â is this what becomes of love? Does it always fester into something so putrid, eating away at happiness until nothing remains?
Does it always destroy everything it touches?
Later on, as he stood over the corpses of his family, his thoughts had once again wandered to that dark place. He thought of the lengths heâd gone for them; the care with which heâd pieced them back together with, giving pieces of himself to make his family whole again, only to have it all crumble to ash in the palm of his hand, left with nothing but memories permanently blackened with pain and grief.
He thought of the tentative hope with each milestone Tommy made it to; his first, second twelfth month sober; the day he found a job, the day he found someone. He thought of the light slowly returning to his motherâs eyes, each day bringing her closer to returning to the person heâd only known through photographs; the person sheâd been before his father. He thought of the way Beth had accepted every part of their broken family, never looking at the patchwork of scars and mismatched pieces that were The Rileys with anything but care and affection. He thought of the innocence and wonder in Josephâs eyes, and how heâd swore heâd never let his nephew experience the pain that he had.
He thought of everything that Tommy would never get the chance to do, the life he had tried so hard to give his brother, now nothing more ash.
He thought of his motherâs eyes, and the way they had become more dull and lifeless than heâd ever seen them with his father.
He thought of Beth and how her acceptance of their flaws and past had cost her everything.
He thought of Joseph, and all heâd never experience.
All because he had cared for them, because he had loved them.
If this was what love was, then he wanted no part of it.
It was almost extraordinary, the unremarkable way in which youâd stumbled into his life.
Too kind for your own good; you hadnât hesitated to introduced yourself when youâd all but run into him in the hall. Not taking his intimidating stare and half-grunted answers to heart, youâd simply smiled, apologised for bothering him, and been on your way. Subsequent encounters had not seen you loose any of your cheer, even though you kept your distance â a smile, a gentle tilt of your head, perhaps even a wave; yet you made no attempt to approach him, nor did you seem put off by his gruff demeanour. No one had ever seemed to content to just exist in his peripheries, to not poke and prod at the enigma that was The Ghost in the hopes of glimpsing just the tiniest piece of the man beneath it all.
No, you seemed to content to simply occupy the same space as him; two celestial bodies orbiting the same star, until the pull of your gravity overwhelmed him and he became your satellite instead, pulled into your orbit with an inevitability that he couldnât bring himself to question. Before he knew it he was actively seeking you out; finding ways to pull you into conversation, to draw you into him as much as he was drawn to you.
The first time he saw you smile â a true, beaming smile, radiating the warmth that he had come to associate with you â was the first time he felt a tiny flicker of something come to life in his chest. Something soft and gentle and warm, something he hadnât felt since the last time heâd held his nephew and marvelled that something to good could come from the rot that was his bloodline. He thought the last of it had died with his family; yet here it was â a tiny, fragile thing, persisting despite it all, clawing out from between the cracks of his concreted heart, begging to be nurtured and to be allowed to grow despite the inhospitable environment it had seeded in.
With each smile you graced him with, every time you laughed at one of his atrocious jokes, each piece of yourself you offered to him freely and without hesitation, and each piece he tentatively offered you in return, he felt that tiny fragile thing inside his heart grow, chipping away at his frozen emotions and giving him hope, letting him think that maybe this time he could have something good.
Most of his life heâd never really understood love.
It seemed to him to be more a curse than a blessing; destined only to cause pain, to pick away at the pieces of you until you were a shell of yourself, and then keep taking until nothing remained. It left nothing but pain in its wake, grief that made you long for relief, to feel nothing rather than this ache inside your very soul, this all consuming emptiness.
Instead he found himself leaving each encounter with you feeling better, more fulfilled than he had been before. He found himself seeking you out more, finding new ways to make you smile, to make you laugh, to keep you near him, so he could nurture that feeling, allow it to grow and take hold and replace the pain with something new, something bright and good and happy. And perhaps, he hoped, he could give you the same feeling he felt when he was with you.
He felt it every time he opened his phone to dozens of messages, of thoughts youâd had and things youâd seen, little things that reminded you of him and every time heâd crossed your mind, your thoughts still drifting to him even when thousands of miles separated you.
He felt it that first morning he woke with you wrapped in his arms, the golden light of morning framing you like a halo, such peacefulness and trust that he knew this time, this time he truly would ensure that something so dear, so precious would never experience the same pain and loss that he had.
He felt it when he came home to flat filled with warmth and laughter, instead of the cold sterility of a military base or the broken glass and screaming and fear that was his childhood.
He felt it every time he kissed you, held you, saw you.
Hi this my first time requesting, if you do head canons, can you do ghost head canons where he has a crush on you. Please?
Hello đ of course I can do that for ya âşď¸ I hope you are satisfied with them.
Ghost has a crush on you.
Ghost wouldn't pick up on it right away. He was very sheltered as a kid and romance wasn't his main concern, even as a teenager. He joined the military early on life so the thought of a relationship absolutely NEVER occured to him.
He starts to pick up little signs though. Whenever you smile his way or greet him in the morning he can feel his stomach twist in a way it's never done before. You start to become a big part of his daily thoughts and he starts to purposefully seek you out.
When you first join the task force he isn't sure about you. He's a man built on trust and constant betrayal so you're a threat to his environment. But you are on the softer side. You start to bring him tea in the morning when he's stocked high by paperwork and start idle conversation during training.
He starts to realize that a lot of things he would do alone start to include you.
He found himself excited to spar with you in the morning or to join your table in the lunch hall. Every small thing you do makes him feral in a way he's never experienced.
It's platonic, but the first time you hold his hand he's a disaster. A. Fucking. Disaster. He wants to swat you away and curse you out for touching him without permission. He wants to pull away and find a corner where he cannot be bothered. And another part of him drops his shoulders and sits/stands there in bliss. The feeling of your warm palm soaking through his gloves. How you grasp his hand so firmly and yet it's so reassuring.
Ghost doesn't understand his feelings so he often gets frustrated with you and himself. He'll mutter and even yell at himself sometimes at night about what he was letting you do to him. Whatever it was. He'd lay awake in his bed thinking of you and all the conversations you'd had that day as his stomach drops in this weird way.
Tries admitting himself to the ICU for heart problems after you giggle at a very sarcastic joke he makes.
You're not dating yet but you for hell better treat him right. Bean is very hurt on the inside and it'll take a lot of nurturing for him to come clean to you about his affection.
He's scared when he takes off his mask in front of you and the others. Of course the others were seeing his face for the first time excepting Price. But something about the way your eyes locked. You looked over every scar. His jaw, his throat and his messy untamed hair. He almost felt ashamed. He felt so small until you smiled and nodded in what almost looked like approval.
Refuses to show you again though, even if you ask.
Being completely unsure of his emotions he grows protective over you. He has become very alert of when other men talk to you or when women give off a flirty remark. It makes his insides hurt and it confuses him as to why he cares.
Now, when he does figure it all out, he cannot, and will not come forth. You could kiss him on the lips and he won't say a word.
He physically can't say 'I love you'. Not because it isn't true, but he's never heard it said to him before, and he's never said it. He doesn't know love or how to love. He's scared of commitment and hurting you.
So instead he'll start leaving little notes and gifts in your sector. He'll watch from his desk filing paperwork as you walk in with a smile and a box of mints in your hands.
When you get hurt out on the field he panics. He does everything he physically can do protect you on missions and is even more alert on stakeouts. If there is a threat to you better rest assured Ghost is putting himself between you and the threat even if it's a fucking train.
What you do for him, he starts to do in return. He is always up first so when you get up and make it to your desk, Ghost is already there with a warm cup of coffee for you. You always see the way he stiffens and his eyes light up when you thank him.
Scary guard dog privileges.
Going on nightly patrol? He's your shadow. Going to a secondary base? He's your shadow. Bring harassed or annoyed. He's your fucking shadow.
It took a while of back and forth of witty remarks and hour long conversations but eventually you manage to confess to him. You were terrified because Ghost was a rollercoaster of mixed signals that whole time.
"I love you, Simon Riley."
Literally just stared at you.
And then slowly nods his head.
Your getting nervous at this point. Does he like you? Does he not like you? Is he about to kill you for saying such a thing? What do you do?
Simon over there is sweating bullets because. What does he do? The most beautiful person in the whole world is staring at him with love and adoration equal to a puppy and has just confessed to having the same tumbling stomach syndrome as himself.
"me too."
"You like you too??" You gulp.
"No! Me- you! You and me- fuck. I feel the same. I think. But I'm not sure yet."
You understand. He's a bit shy suddenly, surprisingly. He gets the hang of the whole boyfriend thing with your help. Though he's certainly an extraordinary man.
Has never kissed so when you roll up his mask and place your lips upon his... HOLY FUCK. Do it again. He's got no damn clue what he's doing but he will hold your neck as if you are glass and try to bring you ever closer.
He will suffocate himself on you until he's literally forced away. His new favorite thing to do is kiss you. Every chance he gets he'll kiss you. (Hates PDA though.)
He's very touch starved so you have a lot of work to catch up on.
I hope this works! I will die on the hill that Ghost is clueless at first on how all the love stuff works. â¤ď¸
I canât get this idea out of my mind !!! Y/n and Simon who are childhood friends but unfortunately seperated because of him going into the SAS, but never forgetting each other, one day when heâs back home he sees all the families tapping them out and then he sees y/n after a long time and they tap him out đđđđđ
Ah yes, I remember this idea and I still love it so much. @itsscromp Dividers are also from @cafekitsune. Childhood friends y/n x Simon | Platonic.
Always find your side.
Warning: Not beta read, slight blimp of violence, mention of abuse.
You and Simon have been friends for years. Simon lived a quiet life, he was a shy kid. He wasn't tall, he was skinny and he was a bullies dream target. He wasn't much when he was a kid which made school as much of a hell as home was.
He was starting a new year, heading back to the same school that he'd been attending since pre-school.
Tommy parked the car and grinned and ruffled Simon's hair. "Get out. If you get into trouble, you're Dad's problem."
"I know..." *Simon mumbled and got out and grabbed his backpack. Tommy pulled away from the curb and left Simon to head inside. Slowly dragging his feet up the stairs, tugging his hoodie up.
Kids talked along the stairs, girls giggled and the high school equivalent of "couples" roamed around.
He slipped under the radar, slipping through the big glass doors of the school and looking around the halls. He saw old faces from last year and kids in his grade. He didn't ever talk to them and kept moving.
Pulling his hood back into place again as he searched for his locker. He quickly moved toward the locker where the janitor must have removed the ink on it.
He sighed and went for his lock and code when an arm wrapped around his neck. He grimaced and grabbed on as he was tugged back. "Hey little Ryry. Long time no see."
He squirmed and kicked, but his bully had always been bigger and fuller than him. "Let.. go-"
The bully grinned and tugged Simon back and up, gripping the side of his face with the hand he kept him in a headlock with.
"I just missed you, no need to go so fast." He tugged down Simon's hoodie. Simon grimaced and chewed the inside of his cheek, remembering Tommy's words.
The halls filled and kids barely paid attention. Most know to just keep walking and move on. The bully licked his finger, spitting on the fat finger and wiggling it toward Simon's ear.
Simon squirmed and grimaced. "Get away from me-"
The bully chuckled and slid his finger into Simon's ear, twisting it around and shoving it as hard inside as he could. Simon grabbed his wrist, squeezing and trying to push him away.
"Hey!" The bully looked across the hall as someone stepped forward from a group of kids and stood in front of the two.
"That's gross mate, let him go." You said firmly and gripped your backpack.
The bully huffed. "Newbie getting cocky?? You know what we do to newbies?? Don't we, Ryry."
"I said, let him go." You armed your book bag and gripped it tight. The bully scoffed. He took his finger from Simon's ear and shoved him. Simon gasped, stumbling and tripping on his shoelaces, smacking against the ground.
The bully snickered and walked off, leaving you to help the boy. "Hey, you ok?" You bent down and reached out for him. Simon grimaced and sat up, quickly doing up his shoes.
"I'm fine..." He dusted himself off. "You're new around here.."
"Yeah, I moved here a couple months ago. What grade are you in??"
"Ten..." He fixed his sleeves and hoodie.
"Cool, I'm Y/n!" You smiled and held out your hand.
Simon blinked and looked at your hand. "Simon..." He didn't shake your hand or anything.
"Well, stay safe, I'll see you around Simon." The bell rang and you quickly rushed off to find your classes. Simon tried not to think about you throughout his classes. His bully watching him, boring holes into his skull.
Until he reached PhysEd he didn't see you. He walked into the locker room and put on his gym outfit, walking out into the room seeing the kids running warmup laps.
He scratched at his scrawny arms, tucking his forearms against his side's. He didn't like wearing so little.
"Simon! Get in the run! Come on!" His teacher called, motioning widely for him to get in.
He groaned and trotted up, joining the circle. You noticed his head of fluffy short hair and rushed to run at his side. "Simon!" You smiled.
"I guess we share a class together!"
Simon looked at you, somewhat surprised. "Hello?" He raised an eyebrow.
You snickered. "At least you aren't alone now."
He hummed, and went back to his run. Throughout PhysEd you didn't leave him alone. You were the new kid and he was the outcast. That's how it sort of pieced together. The two of you hanging out all day as much as you could.
You sat together at lunch. Even though Simon was very shut down, you didn't push him. A part of you told you, you had to be gentle with him.
But you worked for it. Throughout the next three years you came to be friends with Simon. Your main time to spend together came from school and breaks, as Simon had a curfew of 4:45 to be home and no later. You'd already seen him near a panic attack at having to rush home.
You briefly saw his older brother pick him up once. But from what you could sense, his family wasn't in a good situation.
You walked up to Simon's locker, smiling when you saw him. "Hey Simon!"
Simon kept his head down, scuffing his feet. "Y/n..."
"Hey, you ok?" You tilted your head and checked on him.
Simon shoved his hands in his pockets, hiding his face away from you. You frowned softly, reaching out for his hand. You saw the bruises on his knuckles and fingers. The black and blue up his wrists and under his sleeves.
"Simon, show me your face."
"M'no..."
"Simon," You said softly, slowly reaching for his hood and pulling the side back. You saw the bruises speckling all up his cheek and around his eyebrow and cheekbone.
"Simon... We should get you to the nurse."
"No. You can't..."
"Simon, you're hurt."
He pushed your hand away but you had none of it. You gently took his hand and hugged him. "You can trust me..." You whispered and squeezed him gently.
Simon hesitated before leaning into you. His body is tired and wanting to rest. You slowly rocked him. "If you skip PhsyEd we can do homework in the classroom together instead..."
"Yeah?"
"Of course."
He nodded against your shoulder and hid his face. And you held him as long as he needed, damn to the school bell.
You and Simon had now gotten to your final year of school. You were excited. Both of you would be able to get out and finally try and figure yourselves out.
And then 9/11 happened. Just as the new school year started. That rocked the both of you when you heard it. The school day had stopped as the news played over the tv and radio.
Simon got quieter again after that. You didn't connect the dots at first from the incident, but Simon kept his head down and stayed away from you.
He had been spending more of his time at a part time job after school as well. You two were close, but something was off about Simon. You two were quietly eating lunch, Simon staring down at his barely touched meal.
"Something is bugging you??" You asked. Finally catch him in a moment to talk.
He looked up at you. He shrugged a little and picked at his food some more.
"Simon... What's going on in your head??" You grew concerned. You didn't know what it was but part of you was afraid it was something you wouldn't be able to stop if you didn't ask.
Silence followed for a bit. You were about to ask again when Simon finally spoke. "I'm leaving..."
"Leaving??" You frowned. "Where are you going??" Was he going to run away? Vacation? Moving...??
Simon sighed softly. "I signed up for bootcamp..."
You blinked, surprised to hear that. "What?? Bootcamp??" You put your plate down. "When are you leaving?"
"Soon... A couple months.." He kept his gaze down.
"Simon, why didn't you tell me this?? Is this why you are trying to avoid me?"
"I just... Didn't want you to miss me. So I thought maybe if I avoided you a little more you'd forget about me."
You laughed softly. "Simon, why would I forget you?? You're my best friend. I will never forget you."
Simon was quiet. You both sat at the table quietly. "So, you really want to do this, don't you?"
"I do."
You nodded. You couldn't help being worried for Simon. He had been working on bulking up a little bit, and he was a strong witted character. But you worried as a friend. What if he got shot, injured, or killed? You couldn't bear to lose him.
"Ok, then I support that decision. Are you going because you want to serve, or get away from... Him?" You leaned closer and reached out for his hand.
"Both... But I want to serve."
Simon wanted to serve. After 9/11 it pushed him over the edge of a decision and he signed up. He was old enough to scrape into bootcamp.
When Simon packed up and got ready to leave, you texted him to meet up. Before he left you met him. It was a cold, rainy day, but you didn't mind trudging out through the puddles and dark clouds to find Simon.
He had his bags and umbrella, standing at the corner of the road. You fixed your rain coat and quickly rushed across the road.
"Simon!"
Simon waved at you. "Hey."
"Hey! Sorry, I'm wet, can I hug you??"
He nodded, and you eagerly hugged him tightly. Simon wrapped an arm around you, "Stay safe."
"You too, don't die, and stay up to date! I want to hear about all of it!" You smiled up at him.
Simon nodded as the bus showed up. He picked up his bags and started down the sidewalk.
"Wait, Simon!"
He paused and turned back to you.
"Just, call me! I want you to text me as soon as bootcamp is over!"
Simon pursed his lips and nodded. You watched him get on the bus, rain pouring down on you. You stayed there and waved as the bus left.
"Goodbye!!" You waved.
Simon and you did talk. After he got through bootcamp and was accepted he could talk to you a lot more. He would text and email when he could. But slowly, as Simon ranked up the texts started to slow.
You also moved on with your life. Getting a sturdy job and trying to build your life. But you never forgot each other.
Simon still remembered you, but he didn't know if you remembered him.
You remembered him every day when you did your work. When you saw military signs you thought fondly of Simon. You sent him email after email over the course of two years.
And he never responded. His office was collecting dust and his computer shoved in a cardboard box. Emails piling up over the years he was missing.
You eventually gave up, unsure if he was just busy or didn't care to talk anymore.
Vernon walked over. He grinned and kicked Simon in the stomach. "Wakey wakey, Riley~"
Simon choked. His chains rattled and his wrists chaff. He looked up at him, blood leaking down his mouth. He laid his head in the ground, his wrists squeezing behind his back.
"Come on, Riley. Give us a bark." Vernon taunted. He stepped on Simon's head, digging his heel in. Simon grits, biting into his gag. Blood leaked into his eye and he squeezed his eyes shut.
He thought of you. That's one of the things that kept him going. It kept him from breaking. It kept him going.
Vernon's taunting words were static ringing in his ears as he remembered you.
He never forgot you. Even when he lost his family. He had nothing left. He couldn't confide in anyone. He couldn't trust anyone. He felt completely alone.
He stared down at his phone and rubbed his face. He hadn't emailed you in over four years. He didn't even know if you remembered him. He wouldn't blame you if you'd have forgotten such an insignificant boy in your life.
"Hey, don't know if you remember me. There's a ceremony happening back home. Don't know if you want to come down, you don't have to."
He stared at the email. He groaned and sent it, feeling his heart practically twist up in his chest.
He didn't get any reply back in the days leading up, so he assumed you'd forgotten or deleted it. He wouldn't have blamed you if it went to spam.
He dressed up in his uniform and fixed his collar, taking a deep breath. Back home, the soldiers lined up, ready for the usual ceremony and happy reuniting of families.
They all sat or stood around the area. He couldn't spot you from his view. He didn't expect you to come. He was foolish.
He stood there firmly as the general and captain spoke. The ceremony lasted a bit, but his feet were used to the pain.
Eventually families were allowed out. Children shrieked and ran to their fathers. Sisters and brothers ran to their siblings and hugged them tightly. Wives and husbands immediately went to tap out their lovers.
Simon continued to look ahead, hands firm at his sides.
He mate next to him hugged his little brother and walked off. People slowly flooded away and soldiers spared thin. Simon had no family, he had no friends, he had no one who could tap him out.
He'd once again stand around until the captain could tap him out at the end. He was waiting for chairs to empty and families to leave. Waiting for the area went quiet as people packed up and they cleaned.
The general would talk for a bit and the captain would come over. They'd thank him for his duty and finally tap him out so he could wander.
As people walked away, you picked up your bag and wandered through the people. "Excuse me. Sorry, sorry. I'm just gonna sneak through here." You said as you wormed past people.
You walked into the concrete and looked around, spotting him. One of the last men standing there firmly.
You smiled and walked in front of him. Wow, he had changed so much. Shaved his head, taller, much stronger. Scars all over his body from what you could see showing under the uniform.
Simon spotted you, keeping his face still. Wow, you have changed. Was that you?? It was. It really is...
You took a deep breath and kept still. You stood in front of him. "Hey Simon." You tapped his chest.
Simon relaxed his joints slightly. And without hesitation you rushed into his arms. Simon smiled, squeezing you tightly.
"I missed you..." You whispered, squeezing his uniform. "I missed you so much."
Simon squeezed you back and hid against you. You smiled warmly, and slowly rubbed his back. "I got your email." You whisper.
"Thought you'd forgotten about me..." He mumbled against your shoulder.
"Simon... I told you I'd never forget about you. Not my best friend."
His heart swelled and he smiled against your shoulder. He squeezed you and then put you down gently.
You wiped a few tears and looked up at him. "It's so good to see you buddy. You look good."
"I look like shit... Couldn't sleep on my flight..."
"Oh hush, you look good!" You gently patted his arm. "Come on, let's get something to eat." You took his hand and led him away.
Simon blinked, surprised. "What??"
"Come on, you're hungry aren't you??"
Simon hesitated and then nodded. Yeah, actually, he was hungry. Now that you mention it.
"Well, there's Five Guys not far from here." You chime and smile.
Simon finally chuckled and smiled, squeezing your hand and rushing to follow. "You really didn't forget..."
"I'd never forget buddy, I love you, y'know."
Simon's lip wobbled. You were truly the best. Just... The best.
"Yeah..." He rubbed your knuckle. "I love you too.."
ghost doesnât realize how touch-starved he is until you are bandaging him up. inspired by this beauty and the beast scene
a/n: i am literally so horny for this man. i have never even played cod lmao. the men from the new campaign just started popping up on my tiktok feed and now here i am. so i apologize if this is ooc for ghost⌠like i said, i have no idea what this game is about. but i canât get these big boys out of my head⌠making me go feral fr.
Ghost laid propped against the wall as you dabbed his wound on his thigh with a cold, damp cloth. He hissed, slightly moving his leg away from your grip. âHold still!â
You could hear him mumble swears under his breath as you continued to work. âFor someone so big, you really are such a baby,â you teased lightly under your breath, the adrenaline rush making you a bit more confident with your lieutenant. âI told ya I can wait till weâre back at base,â his deep voice growled, his teeth clearly clenching as your fingers pried through the exposed tissue searching for the bullet lodged in the flesh.
âDonât be an idiot. Youâll bleed out everywhere and I donât want to have to clean it up. And if you pass out from the lack of blood, you really think I can carry you back?â You couldnât see, but Ghost smiled under his mask at your sudden snarky remarks. He hadnât seen this side of you before.
He grunted in response. Ghostâs eyes studied you, concentration flushing across your face as you worked at the opening in this thigh. You felt the pressure under his intense watch. His eyes traced up to your forehead where your hair was matted with blood. âYour head,â he muttered, his own hand pointing up by his eyebrow.
âHuh?â you asked, tearing your eyes away to look at him. You mirrored him and reached a hand up and grazed your brow then looked back at your fingers. They were red. âOh. I⌠Must have hit my head.â Everything had happened so fast, you didnât even remember getting hurt.
âYou should-â Ghost began before you interrupted.
âIâll be fine . I need to get the bullet out of you first. So, for the last time, quit moving!â
Ghost chuckled, âSound like me.â You rolled your eyes, hearing the irony as you repeated the same thing Ghost had said to you earlier: Iâll be fine.
Your hands were covered in Ghostâs blood as you worked to remove the tiny bullet. Ghost sat perfectly still. You glanced up at him, his face stoic under his mask as he observed, still as he could be. Apparently, he did know how to listen.
âJust pull the damn thing out,â he grunted. You finally got ahold of the metal and tore it from his thigh. You held it up in success, a slight smile on your face.Â
âI was about to get it out anyways, this has nothing to do with your demands.â
âMhm,â he mumbled as he adjusted his position.
Your fingers danced along his exposed skin as you began to apply a bandage to his open wound. Ghost could feel goosebumps rise where your fingers trailed. His body focused on the movement of your fingers, he couldnât even feel the pain he should definitely be feeling right now.
After you finished, you rested your hands on his thigh a few inches above your work and let out a breath you didnât realize you were holding in. â There ,â you said with relief. Ghostâs ears pinked under his mask, your warm touch radiating through his trousers, your hands a little too high up for comfort. You, however, hadnât noticed the intimacy of your touch.
You shifted your stance and sat facing Ghost. You held out a clean cloth, wanting him to clean the cut that sliced through your forehead. He stared at you. You rolled your eyes. Did you have to explain everything? âI canât see,â you said, pointing to your forehead. Ghost reluctantly took one of his gloves off and grabbed the wet linen from you. You leaned closer and closed your eyes. Ghost swallowed hard. He slowly brought his hand up to the cut that ran from your hairline and right through your eyebrow. After dabbing away the blood you handed him a bandage and some bandage tape. Ghost huffed. âIâm not your bloody nurse.â
âIâm not yours either but you didnât see me complaining,â you retorted. Ghost refrained from rolling his eyes and slipped off his other glove than took the supplies from you. He was familiar with treating injuries, at least until the person was able to get seen by a proper medical professional. So why was he suddenly acting flustered?
His hand gently rested on your forehead as he lined the bandage up. He couldnât avoid touching your skin, his fingers being pulled towards you against his better judgment. Your skin felt like fire beneath his fingertips. Ghost couldnât remember the last time he touched someone this gently. He took the ripped bits of tape and secured the bandage in place. His fingers lingered, then softly skimmed the side of your face and fluttered through your hair. How he missed the warm feeling he got when he caressed someone so delicately. He was so used to vulgar aggressiveness, he almost forgot that he was capable of such embraces. You kept your eyes shut even though you wanted to open them in surprise at Ghostâs lingering touch. Having been away from everyone in your life for so long made you desperate for someone to squeeze you tight. To hold you close. To just keep your bed warm beside you. You hadnât even realized how deprived of touch you truly were until Ghost touched you with his calloused hands.
You opened your eyes and Ghostâs own locked on yours, both of your breathing the only sound in the small room. He quickly yanked his hand away, clearly embarrassed. Heâd curse his hand out later for having a mind of its own. He flexed his hand, rubbing it with his other. He debated on apologizing but found it hard to speak. Before he could finish his thought, you grabbed his wrist.
He mumbled your name, his accent dripping over his words heavier than usual. His gaze was always so intense, but you didnât back down.
He froze as he watched you, curious of your next move. You both had understood what happened without even speakingâa sort of silent acknowledgment of the way you both were touch-starved, the only connection with another body prior to this being through violence.Â
You scooted closer to him and pulled his arm so it draped around your shoulder. You tentatively leaned against his chest, feeling his breathing deepen. Ghost felt tense underneath you, his body rigid. Feeling bold and empty, you grabbed his hand and laced it with yours, the heat transfer from holding someone skin to skin a feeling you hadnât experienced in months. It was comforting and relieving. As much as it flustered Ghost, he also felt a huge feeling of relief as your hands warmed against one another. His fingers closed and gripped your hand back. You could feel him slightly relax, his body molding to yours.
He could smell your shampoo as your head sat propped under his chin. When was the last time he held someone like this? He couldnât quite remember. To be honest, he hadnât thought about these types of things until now.
After a long pause, you felt Ghosts chest rumble as he spoke. âI think this is the longest youâve gone without rambling on about somethinâ.â
Your lips quirked up in a slight smile. You both knew things were going to be awkward the moment you faced each other and made your way back to base. Ghost was especially concerned with the fact that one of his soldiers would know how weak he had acted.
But with both of your faces out of view from the other, softly intertwined, everything felt⌠good .
âMhm, donât get used to it,â you said quietly. Ghost could hear the sleep in your speech. He pondered a moment. At least you were both safely inside the building having already prowled the area for enemies. Maybe it was okay if he let you rest a minute? And not because Ghost didnât want to break away from your hold, but because both of you were wounded and he knew better than to push through something like that when he had the time to regain his strength.
Ghost hadnât realized his thumb began absentmindedly stroking circles against your skin, his grip around you tightening slightly.
Six Words: After a mission goes wrong, you're tasked with keeping an injured Ghost safe from swarming insurgents. When you almost fail to save him, you realize your feelings towards him make you a liability. Ghost disagrees.
-
Wrath: After you risk your life protecting Ghost, the Lieutenant is furious. Angry enough, in fact, to pay you a late-night visit.
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Delirium: Being partnered with Ghost was never easy. However, when you find him bleeding out on the kitchen floor and delirious from blood loss, you make a discovery. The L.T. loves to talk.
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Under Your Skin: In an attempt to get under Ghost's skin with the unwilling help of KĂśnig, you realize the L.T. has been getting under yours for far longer.
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Ipseity: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.
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Dissonance: When a mission-gone-wrong leads to a confrontation, Ghost confesses the way that he feels.Â
simon doesnât expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.
based on this.
simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.
in the unyielding line, heâs silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.
but simon is an orphan now.
thereâs no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.
over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.
the tap-out tradition is a formality heâs only ever heard about, something heâs watched from a distance but never expected for himself.
he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.
maybe soap would tap him out after heâd seen to his own family.
no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at armâs length, heâd come to accept that soap wasnât leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, thereâs no one in simonâs life to come pick him out.
still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldnât change. or so he believes.
then he feels itâa subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesnât understand. his breath catches, but he doesnât move. heâs trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought heâd left behind a lifetime ago.
itâs you.
you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.
you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadnât been able to look back for.
âyou. you. you.
and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.
he doesnât understand, not fully. he thought heâd locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought heâd left behind.
you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if youâre allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.
he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if itâs his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break throughâa slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.
and you know, in that instant, itâs okay.
with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.
then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.
in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and heâs just simon again, holding you as if youâre the only real thing in a world thatâs constantly shifting.
his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls heâs held up for years fall away.
âyouâre here,â he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he canât hide anymore.
his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.
you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, âiâm sorry, lovie. iâm so damn sorry. iâll never leave you behind again. i promise.â
and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, heâs just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.
. Ö´ÖśÖ¸đ ŕŁŞË Ö´ÖśÖ¸đŕźŕźŕż an. i know the tap-out tradition isnât common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well.
read part 2 here.
âSo did the other two actually say no or did you just never invite them?â
ââCourse I invited them, you asked me to, so I did.â Simon replies with ease, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. âTheyâre smart lads, lovie, they knew to say no all by themselves.â
You shake your head at him in disbelief but the smile thatâs been plastered across your face ever since the two of you pulled out of your flatâs parking doesnât budge. Simonâs been driving for a few hours now, and as stressful of an experience as that is alone, youâre too excited to mind the long journey in the car.
Simon is on leave for the next two weeks, something about Price having to attend a funeral following a death in the family, and deciding that everyone on the force was due for a bit of time off. Seeing as the Captain was going to be preoccupied during his time off duty, he had asked if Simon wouldnât mind checking in on his house for him, making sure things were alright. Heâd even offered for the two of you to stay in the guest room for the duration of their leave.
Simon had explained how Price knew that the two of you were living in a small flat in London, and apparently his home was in a beautiful, forested, isolated area which meant he had essentially no neighbours, something he also knew would appeal to Simon. He offered for the two of you to stretch your legs out there at enjoy the property, including the privacy that came with it.
Wanting to be polite, youâd told Simon he should extend the invitation to Soap and Gaz, thinking they might enjoy a nice, quiet stay-cation as well at their Captainâs place away from it all. It would appear your lover had different ideas in mind however. Though you couldnât blame him entirely, the thought of having the cozy cabin all to yourselves was certainly more appealing.
Every which way you look outside the car, your vision is filled by endless blurry trees as you zoom by, the colours of the leaves having finally changed into the warmer, more vibrant colour palette that came along with the autumn chill. If the drive up to his property was any indication of how beautiful the area really was, then you were in for quite the treat.
Entranced by the beauty of the landscape in comparison to the city lights youâve grown so used to, you fail to notice the glances Simon keeps sneaking your way, the smallest of satisfied smiles seemingly permanently etched upon his face beneath his balaclava. He was grateful that after explaining the situation and Priceâs generous offer to you, you had been too excited to ask many questions, instead getting a jump start on packing a duffel bag or two.
You were one of the most intelligent, clever, curious people heâd ever known, and it was normally quite difficult to get anything by you. He was therefore feeling rightfully proud of himself as he drove you nearer and nearer to the home you believed belonged to his Captain. In actuality, there was no funeral for Price to attend, the sergeants had certainly not been invited along on your getaway, and the home youâd be staying in wasnât Priceâs.
It was yours.
Yours, and Simonâs.
The two of you had been living in that shoebox of a flat heâd considered as âsatisfactoryâ when he was only staying there as a bachelor, for far too long. As ideal as the location might have been, there simply just wasnât enough space for two people to live together, even considering Simonâs absences for work and that fact that when he was home, you two were essentially always on top of one another anyways.
Youâd both been searching for a new flat for what felt like ages now, none of the places you visited feeling like the right fit. Simon would be weary about a certain neighborhood, youâd be concerned with the lack of any balcony or outdoor space, heâd ignore the price tag that felt your eyes bulging, and youâd shake your head as you walked through doorways that had him needing to duck down.
Little did you know, Simon had been doing his own house hunting, outside of the city. You had told Simon you were fine with staying in London, understanding that itâs convenient to have everything near by. But Simon didnât want to give you just âfineâ. He wanted to give you a home. The home he intends to spend the rest of his life with you in, plans on carrying you over the threshold in your wedding dress, hopes to carry sleeping newborns in their car seats through the door.
For months now, Simon has subtlety been learning more about what that home looked like to you. Heâd look over your shoulder as you scrolled through Pinterest, casually asking if you could show him your boards, you know just for fun, and paid very close attention when you showed him the one named âfuture houseâ. On his phone, he had a list a mile long in his notes app, from secretly writing down every comment you made while watching your home reno shows. Heâll casually ask you what you think of the houses you drive by, jotting down your answers in his mind, remembering likes and dislikes.
He believes that like you, itâs the people filling the home that matter more than the structure itself, as proven by the way you continue to put up with his minuscule flat. He knows you mean it when you say youâre alright with another flat. But he has the money goddammit, he has the means to do this for you, and when the listing came up for a home in what youâd revealed as being your ideal area to settle down in one day, the house resembling the amalgamation of everything he believed youâd described as being your perfect place, he knew he had to put an offer in.
And if there ever was anything about the house you didnât like or wanted to change, heâd gladly do it for you, no questions asked. You want to paint the bedroom? Just tell him what colour you want. You want to change the railing on the wrap around porch? Heâs on his way to the hardware store already. You need him to dig a stump out of the backyard to make room for your garden? Sit back and enjoy the show lovie, heâs on it. And when the time comes to build a crib? Well he may as well baby proof the whole house while heâs at it too.
Heâs pictured your reaction a thousand times over in his mind. He imagines youâll maybe give a small gasp when he turns the corner of the long driveway and you first see the cozy, two-storey home, surrounded by never-ending foliage of red, orange, and yellow leaves, the time of year perfect for appreciating autumn in the UK, as well as the privacy the tall trees grant you. He thinks the first thing youâll comment on will likely be the windows, an item high on your priority list he knew to adhere to.
He imagines you kicking off your boots as you step through the door, pace quickening to explore every room, spinning in the kitchen as you joke about how jealous you are of Price. He pictures you groaning with envy when you spot your dream master bathroom, insisting to Simon that since youâd been tasked with checking in on the home you may as well see every room, right? He plans to explain away the obvious sparseness of the home as the Captain not having lived here long, as being very non-materialistic after all his years in service.
Heâll continue to play along for as long as he can, part of him knowing that you know him well enough that youâre likely to catch onto his deception at some point. However he hopes that before you start rummaging through kitchen cabinets and find them empty, too empty even for an absentee captain of a homeowner, that youâll mention something along the lines of wishing you could stay here longer. Thatâs when he plans to slip a key into the palm of your hand, revealing that you might be able to stay longer than you believe.
The small piece of metal thatâll unlock the rest of your lives together, sits heavy in his pocket, in contrast to the light feeling in his heart when his hand reaches across the dashboard to grab a hold of yours, knowing that the content, lovesick smile you offer him is likely stretched across his face as well, staring right back at you.
Though youâre unaware that Simon is currently driving towards your home, and not away from it, youâre gently stroking the scarred skin across his hand, feeling as though your home is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and your heart at the same time.
warnings/tags: fluff, allusions to smut, Simon gets in his feelingsâ˘ď¸
It was the first time that you dropped a plate stacked high with heart-shaped pancakes in front of him, that you realized just how much Simon had been starved for love in his life.
âWhatâs this?â He asks, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, staring down at his plate as though it were a bomb in need of defusing.
âBreakfast? Youâd mentioned pancakes the other day and Iâve been craving âem since.â You shrug, walking back towards the stovetop where the next batch are waiting to be flipped over.
âTheyâre- youâve never-â You glance back over your shoulder at him, watching as he appears to struggle to find the words for what he means to say. He looks almost out of place, his large, hulking frame sitting at a breakfast table with flowers adorning it (heâs the one that brought you that bouquet, of course), his bed head on full display. âYouâve never made âem like this before.â
âWhat, like hearts?â You giggle, scooping up the last of the breakfast onto a plate, making your way back to the table, seeing Simon give you a nod in confirmation. âI just wanted spread some love to my love. Is that alright?â
Setting your plate down next to his, you go to take a seat before you feel two muscular arms wrapping around your middle, pulling you backwards and seating you onto his strong lap.
ââCourse sâalright.â He mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss wherever his lips may land on you. From those two words alone, you can tell his throat is getting scratchy, and you almost think you hear the slightest sniffle coming from him. You canât help the surprised blush that creeps through you. You werenât expecting him to react this way. Youâre willing to bet he also wasnât expecting to react this way.
Knowing that communicating, as well as understanding, his feelings isnât something that always comes with ease for Simon, you decide to give him a moment, not wanting to put him on the spot. You spread some maple syrup across your stack, tilting it in the direction of his plate and receiving a grunt of confirmation before you drizzle some onto his as well. Taking your cutlery in hand, enjoy your breakfast in quiet bliss, taking turns feeding bites to yourself and your shadow behind you, always receiving a loving squeeze to your thigh after each piece you slip between his lips.
âMum never made anythinâ like this.â His revelation arrives just as your chewing on your last bite, stomachs content, hearts even more full. You can count on one hand the amount of times Simon has brought up his family to you. Youâre aware of the circumstances, and while you donât know every detail (nor do you need to), he has over time opened up to you about what happened. âNot âcause she didnât love us. I think she wouldâve if she-â he clears his throat, and you readjust yourself in his lap so that you can wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your head against his shoulders, rubbing reassuring circles into the muscles your hands come across.
You donât want to overwhelm him by looking at him as he opens himself up to you, but you want to reassure him that youâre listening, youâre here with him. He can tell you as much or as little as he wants to, and youâll listen.
âBeth did though. Once or twice.â He adds, resting his chin atop your head, running a hand through your hair. âI mean, Iâm sure she did it more than that but, I saw her do it, once or twice. For Joseph.â Your grip around him tightens ever so gently at the mention of his late sister-in-law and nephew. Youâve never seen a picture of the boy, but you can just picture him, a small little blond head of hair, maybe with eyes like his, running around, keeping his young parents busy. Knowing the fate his family endured, a shiver runs through you, but you donât let it overcloud the moment that Simon is sharing with you. Certainly not when it appears heâs thinking of them fondly right now, reflecting on his past with a happy lens.
âIâm sure he mustâve loved it.â You whisper into the skin of his neck, sending goose bumps sprawling across the flesh.
âHe did. Tommy too.â At that he gives a slight chuckle, shaking the two of you. âEven when we were younger, he could always eat us out of house and home. Was like you couldnât get anything to stick to his bones, either, that kid. More than half the time I wound up shop liftinâ it was to feed his skinny arse.â You sit there together for a moment, holding one another, basking in the newest glimpse of his past that Simon has just offered you.
âThey wouldâve loved you.â He mumbles into your hair, emotion evident in his voice, his grip on you tightening desperately, as though you two might slip through his fingers if he doesnât hold you close enough. âThink you wouldâa liked em as well.â At that you pull away from his shoulder, slipping your hands to cradle each side of his face, bringing his forehead to meet yours.
âThey loved you, Si. Of course I would love them too.â You whisper against his lips, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to each corner of his mouth, the top of his nose, each closed eyelid, before returning to his mouth.
Itâs the next week when you decide to finally tackle the last of the moving boxes. You and Simon finally moved in together a few months ago now, and Simon seems to have placed more priority on âchristening every roomâ (also known as fucking you senseless over each and every available surface in the place) over unpacking.
The handful of boxes that are left are more of the miscellaneous, donât really have anywhere to put them, sort of items that you canât exactly part with but donât have any real use for. Most of it being your stuff. His time in the military has left him without a need for many material items, and so youâre surprised to find a smaller box shoved to the back of the pile labeled as âSimonâ.
Upon opening it, you find it contains a variety of what appears to be memorabilia heâs collected throughout his time in the military, small souvenirs from his travels, old folded up uniforms, and what not. But slipped between two folded shirts, you can feel something more sturdy. Carefully slipping it out of the box, you discover a frame containing a multitude of medals.
In spite of being in love with a Lieutenant, your knowledge of the military is still slim. You donât recognize any of the medals shining up at you, but they are numerous, and you can tell they must be incredibly important, something heâs worked so hard to earn. Why is he keeping this tucked away?
âHey Si!â You shout in hopes that heâs near enough to hear you.
âWhat are you up to now, mischief?â He asks, his tone playful as you hear his footsteps approaching. âChrist, weâve still boxes left?â
âActing as if you donât purposefully walk around them every day.â You tease back, rolling your eyes at him. You stand up, turning to face him with the frame clutched to your chest. He takes you in and raises a brow in question as to your discovery. âWhat are these?â
He steps closer to glance at what youâre holding, shoulders tensing for a moment before releasing, letting out a deep sigh.
âAh. Sânothinâ.â He tries to reach to take it out of your grip, but you swing your arms behind your back, hiding it from his grasp.
âWhat do you mean nothing? Doesnât look like nothing to me, mister award winner.â
âTheyâre not- I donât-â he seems to struggle with his words, and itâs only then that you realize perhaps he doesnât view these medals in the same way you do.
âDo you not like âem?â You ask, bringing the frame back around to your front, glancing down at them with a more quizzical eye this time.
âI just- Iâm not always proud of how I earned em, love.â He attempts to explain, reaching a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. âSome I reckonâ I donât mind but- all just seems unnecessary to me. I did my job, all there is to it.â
âAre these like, the kind they have big ceremonies for and then someone pins them on you in front of everyone?â
âSomethinâ like that.â he grumbles, crossing his arms over his large chest.
âAnd let me guess, you never attended any of them?â
âDonât need all the fanfare, lovie.â He says, stepping forward and slowly slipping the frame from your grasp, tossing it back into the box youâd found it in. âAll I needâs right here.â
âI just wish youâd let yourself be celebrated sometimes too, SiâŚâ
âWell if itâs celebratinâ my birdie is wantinâ, howâs bout we go celebrate with you on top of the washing machine eh? Donât think Iâve made you cum up there yet.â You roll your eyes at his changing of the subjects, but canât contain the giggle that erupts out of you when he swings you over his shoulder, apparently having decided the laundry room is exactly where you two are going now. âJust put a load in the machine, only right I put a load in here too.â He adds with a smack to your ass.
Youâre worried youâre about to make an absolute fool out of yourself. No, youâre sure youâre about to look like an idiot. You know how much that man loves you, but even this might be exaggerating. Glancing at the clock above the stove however, you know itâs now or never. The candles around the room have been lit, the lights are dimmed, his favourite meal is cooking in the oven, soft music is playing from the record player, youâre wearing Simonâs favourite dress on you, and you even went as far as to spruce up your hair and makeup for this. In theory, everything is perfectly set up and in its place.
So why then, do you feel so mortified as you hear the sound of keys jingling the lock at the front door? Oh right, because itâs him youâve set this all up for.
âHi sweetheart,â he shouts to you as he walks in, too preoccupied with removing his boots and gear to look up yet. âSmells really good, whatâs-â He cuts himself off upon walking into the kitchen, eyes landing on the unusual scene before him. You watch as his irises glance around the room, taking it all in, before landing on you. Heâs still stood a few feet away from you, but you swear you can see his pupils dilate as his eyes roam up and down your figure.
âHi.â You whisper meekly to him, wringing your hands nervously behind your back.
âHi.â He answers back, taking an apprehensive step towards you. âWhatâs all this then?â
âFirst you have to go get dressed.â You inform him, jutting your chin in the direction of your shared bedroom. The small smile working its way onto his face helps boost your confidence, nerves slowly dissipating.
âIs that so?â
âMhmm. Even laid out your clothes for you, so you donât have to think about it.â
âWe goinâ somewhere?â He asks, beginning to undo his belt already. The movement catches your attention, likely his intention, and his smirk widens upon seeing you blush.
âNope. Weâre just celebrating at home.â
At this, he freezes his movements, belt halfway slipped out of his belt loops. His gaze scans your face, looking for anything he might have missed.
âShit. Did I- did I forget something, baby? I did-â
âNo, no no no!â You cut him off with a slight giggle, coming up to him now to lay your palms across his chest. âNo, youâre okay Si. You didnât forget anything, Iâm just surprising you.â You reassure him, knowing that he only calls you baby when heâs worried heâs in trouble (or when heâs already in trouble, crouched between your thighs attempting to earn his way out of the dog house).
âYou didnât have to do any of this love.â He says, hands pulling the rest of his belt out, before he loops it around you, using it to pull you even closer to him.
âYou donât even know what Iâve done yet, mister. Weâll see if you still like me in a bit.â You stand up on your tippy toes, planting a kiss to his Adamâs apple, fingers reaching up to slowly lift the skull printed balaclava off his face. Your lips follow each inch of skin revealed as you finally slip the fabric off his visage, exposing the face of the man you love. âNow go get dressed before I change my mind.â
With a kiss to the forehead and a squeeze to the bum, your man releases you from his grasp to obediently follow your command, making his way towards the bedroom. Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you turn towards the cabinets, pulling out the secret youâd been hiding, the reason youâre doing any of this.
Minutes later, Simon is walking back into the room, dressed in form fitting black dress pants, and his large hands are finishing up the last few buttons of his white button-up shirt, the buttons appearing minuscule in his grasp. Your eyes land on his figure, and suddenly the smell of the food in the oven isnât why your mouth is salivating so much. He glances up at you, eyes meeting and each of you fights off a small blush and a shy smile, as though youâre seeing your dates for the prom for the first time.
âYouâre so handsome, Si.â You tell him, stepping closer to him.
âThink youâre just desensitized to me at this point, love.â He attempts to deflect, but you see the blush deepening across his pale cheeks. âBesides, I oughta be kissing the ground you walk on birdie, just look at yaâŚâ He reaches a hand out towards yours, spinning you around gracefully, taking the time to admire you entirely.
The look in his eyes is glazing over, as he licks his lips, eyes unable to tear away from each inch of skin you have exposed. Youâre equally become as hot and bothered, but youâve got a goal tonight, and you want to see it through, for his sake.
âBefore dinner, I uh- I wanted to do something for you.â You say, stepping back enough that your backside meets the edge of the counter top. Your hands feel behind you for what youâre looking for, hoping he canât see what youâre attempting to conceal for just a little longer. âI donât need to explain to you how hard you work, everywhere you go, youâre always taking care of others, Si. And you donât get even nearly as much thanks as you should, and-â
âLove,â he tries to cut you off, stepping closer to you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
âHold on, I really want to say this. To do this.â He nods at your interjection, accepting to hear you through. âEver since I met you, youâve changed my life Simon Riley, and I know Iâm not the only person in the world who can say that. You are a good man, a hero to many, a leader to others. Youâre just- you are good, Si. I promise you are.â
You canât help the emotion beginning to seep into your voice now, but itâs important to you that he hears every word you have to tell him, and that he knows you mean them.
âI donât know everything youâve done, and I donât want to. Your job terrifies me, and every time you walk out the door Iâm scared youâre going to get hurt but- youâre so good at what you do, Simon. They couldnât do it without you. Youâre important, youâre needed.â At this, you slip the frame of medals out from behind your back, bringing them in front of you for Simon to see. âThatâs what these are, at least in my eyes. Theyâre reminders that youâre meant to be doing what youâre doing, but most importantly, they also mean you made it back. You made it back to me.â
His warm hand reaches out to brush away a stray tear thatâs spilled over your lashes, his palm staying to cup your cheek affectionately.
âYouâre right, we donât need all the fanfare, all we need is right here. But some occasions call for a celebration. Thatâs why Iâm hoping youâll let me put these on you? Just once, just this one time, I just- I need you to know how important you and your accomplishments are to me.â
Wordlessly, he nods to you, his own eyes appearing to be brimming with emotion. Sniffling, you turn the frame over, opening up the back before carefully slipping it off. Your fingers gingerly pick up the first medal they find, bringing it up to his firm chest. You look into his eyes once more, ensuring that this is okay with him. All you see in his gaze is pure, undeniable love. One hand reaches between the fabric of his shirt and the warm, scarred skin across his pec, as the other brings the medal to the front of the button-up. With all the devotion and tenderness in the world, you secure the medal to his front, slowly slinking your hands away to see if itâll stay in its place.
When the medal does not budge, you repeat the process over with the remaining medals, until one side of his shirt is significantly weighed down compared to the other side, and both your hearts are bursting with affection for the human being stood before you. Sliding your now empty hands up his shoulders, his calloused palms resting on either side of your waist, his eyes communicate to you everything that his lips will never need to tell you. You know him. And you know what you mean to him. Thatâs why as he shuts his eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead, you find yourself whispering the sentence you hope to tell him every day of your life:
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