Maybe it was learned behavior from his father, maybe it was just in his nature, but Simon has an affinity for picking fights. Physical or otherwise, he just pushes and pushes and pushes until the other person has had enough and all hell breaks loose.
And unfortunately, you weren’t immune from it. It started with little comments here and there, like him coming home when you were in the middle of cleaning and asking why you didn’t do it earlier when you had all day. You tried passing them off as him just being an ass on purpose to mess with you but then it just kept going.
Just small things really, enough to brush off or shove his arm for but eventually it escalated into back and forth arguments and him sleeping on the couch. And then one day he completely embarrasses you in front of his friends. He’d been drinking a few beers and said, “Oi why don’t ya make y’self useful for once and get me another?”
A heavy silence fell over the room and Price looked like he was about to kill the man. You force a polite smile and tell the guys that was enough for tonight and you’d see them later. They file out despite Simon’s protests and the moment you see them drive away, you go off.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, huh? ‘Make myself useful’? Really?”
“Oi come on love, calm down-“
“No don’t ’come on love’ me. Simon, you’ve been acting absolutely atrocious, the way you’ve been treating me has just gotten worse and worse and I don’t understand it.”
He starts talking again but you’re already halfway to your room, too hurt to hear a word. You grab a bag and start shoving clothes and anything else you’d need into it. Simon freezes at the door and that’s when reality starts to set in.
“What are y’doing?”
“I’m leaving, Simon.” You scoff, pausing to look at him. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to you but this isn’t the man I fell in love with. I’m done.”
“No. No no no-“ he steps into the room and hesitates before grabbing your arms gently to stop you from packing. “Baby please, m’sorry. How can I make it up to ya?”
You look up at him with tear filled eyes and shrug. “Figure it out.” You pull away from him and get the last of your belongings in the bag, zipping it up. You’re stopped by Simon once again who’s now got tears of his own streaming down his face.
“M’sorry, I fucked up. I know that, yeah?” He sniffles, a deep sob breaking through. “Love please, I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t- I instigate, I say shit I don’t mean, I just…let me make it up to you just don’t leave me.”
You stare at him silently, knuckles white as you clutched the strap of your bag. “Knees.”
“What?”
“Get on your knees,” you clarify, “and beg for forgiveness. If you want me to stay, you get on your bloody knees.”
Simon had never heard that tone from you before and for some reason it makes a chill go down his spine. But he doesn’t argue, just slowly kneels down in front of you, hands sliding from your arms down to the fronts of your thighs just above the knee. He looks up at you with a desperate look in his eye, lip quivering.
“M’so fuckin sorry. It’s an awful habit I got and I ain’t gonna try t’make excuses. I won’t do it t’ya anymore, swear it. I won’t do it t’anyone. I’m breakin that habit, okay? T’night.”
Now it was your turn to cry. Tears quietly fall and he exhales through his mouth, his hands reaching up to wipe your cheeks. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Fuck. Get up. Get the fuck up, Simon.” He stands and you drop the bag and hold onto him tightly.
(rookieroommate! x ltghost + tf141, medical procedures (stitches), mentions of torture, angst)
You don't know what you did to deserve any of this but you were about to start praying for forgiveness.
As Easter passed, you grew closer to your pre-scheduled deployment that lasted a month or so. No biggie, nor anything you hadn't done before. However, this time you were going to be paired with a parent team– or well just a team you were supposed to listen to. Again, not a big deal, and definitely not something crazy either.
The first issue arose when it came to training. See, one of the soldiers from said team happened to be the kin of a general, and not one whose name was used lightly. You never planned to act out though, so there wouldn't be a problem in theory. That is, if the son wasn't an absolute prick, and you didn't have the awful luck of being picked to be his mentee.
It started off not that bad, just insults everytime you slipped up, which admittedly wasn't even that often, but it only motivated you to try harder anyway. That’s what the parent team should’ve been aiming to do anyway— encourage you all with your training. However, it soon quickly shifted; his hits became sharper, almost unfair.
The first time you toppled to the ground, blood spilling across the mat everyone turned in shock, not expecting to see such a sight. “Really? You couldn’t even block that? You’re not good enough. Go, now.”
And so you left to the medic tent to get your broken nose stuffed with gauze and wrapped properly, only returning to the bunks later that night. One of your closer teammates came to sit down beside you, a frown set on her face. “Did you piss him off or something? He looked soooo mad after.” She questions, confused by this sudden unusual behaviour– general’s son or not, he still had standards he needed to uphold.
You shrug your shoulders, just wanting an early night's rest so you could catch up on training in the morning– a trip to the medic wasn’t an excuse for a break. “I didn't..do anything different. I didn't even say anything the entire time.”
“It’s not your fault.” You hear a voice pipe up from behind you, a boy you only met during training here. This was a necessary course for soldiers at your level, so your actual team wasn't here with you. He comes over and hands you a water bottle, a frown set on his face as he sits on the bunk opposite. Technically women and men had different tents, but it wasn't time to turn in for bed just yet. “He’s General Shepherd’s son.”
The name rings a bell in your head but you can't exactly figure out from what, and instead you just gratefully take the water bottle. “Thanks. I guess it's just another stuck up nepo baby.. Huh?”
The two of them nod in response, chuckling quietly just in case he happens to be lurking nearby. Hopefully if you just stay in your lane then he’ll leave you alone.
—----------------------
He did not in fact leave you alone even once.
You had tried nearly every single possible approach to fix this situation but it was like the target was permanently nailed to your body in bright neon red. He yelled at you constantly with corrections during training, and then some more when you sparred with others. When the simulated exercises came around, your name was at the top of every list of concern along with a stupid reason circled beside it. Every time you corrected your previous mistakes, new ones appeared, and to your dismay, the other instructors wouldn't bat an eye to your pleas for some guidance. That’s the worst part really; you hadn't actually even complained about the harsh treatment at all, only ever asking for them to show you what you were doing wrong.
You began to realise quickly that this wasn’t as much of a problem on your half, but a result of a vendetta you hadn't even been aware of. After asking nearly every instructor, not one could give you a solid improvement you could actually do in each of the situations. Besides, his complaints started to become obviously stupider by the day.
“Really? He got annoyed because my shoe wasn't tied twice?!” You throw your hands up in the air as your friend practices their stitching skills on you, trying to close up a particularly nasty wound on your shoulder.
“I know it’s rough but will you please stop moving so much!” She yelps as blood starts to spill and you give her a sheepish look, keeping still as best as you can as she cleans the wound again.
“I’m sorry, it’s just –Ow! Are you really sure you know how to stitch?” You hiss as she drags the needle through the sore skin, wincing as you turn to her with a very obvious frown.
“I do! I’m just..” She finishes it as fast as she can, tying it off with a satisfied look, hands planting on her hips. “Ay not that bad! I mean.. It looks closed?”
You roll your eyes, rolling your shoulder to check the pain and surely enough the stitches don't break nor does it seriously ache. “It’ll do. My point is, i’m not even going to even pass the course at this rate! What the hell is the point of all of this then?”
“You just have to keep pushing through it, okay? Everyone knows he’s being extra harsh anyway, they’re just too afraid to speak against him.” It was true; someone had to be a serious idiot to not see the obvious problem he has with your mere existence. With a soft sigh, you nod along to her words– maybe she was right. In some weird way, you were just his stress ball, and he’d probably be squeezing you until this course is over. But he wouldn’t pop you surely, you hadn't actually done anything deserving of it.
—-----------------
“That’s it, everyone stop. None of you are getting any food because of this.”
You’ve only placed one carrot in your mouth, just like your friend who sits beside you, so surely this can't be your fault this time. So naturally you let your fork drop back against the plate, blinking at the others who also don't dare to question why he suddenly spoke.
“We do not raise pigs in the military.” He scoffs, arms crossed over his chest as he walks over to a soldier who dared to keep chewing, snatching his tray out of his hands and placing it on the side.
“And she is a direct example of this. You wait for everyone to sit before you eat, and you do not take a portion for a man.” He sneers as he walks around to you, plucking the plate from before you and dumping it directly in the bin. The whole team stops and turns their heads towards you the second he announces it, leaving you burning with unexplainable shame.
This wasn't even your fault– you didn't make the portion sizes, in fact the workers used to give the women less and even on the self-serve areas you did so because you didn’t want to feel sick during your sneaky training when everyone was asleep. Mind that fact, there has never even been a rule to only eat once everyone's arrived in the month you’ve already been here for.
“Get out! Now!” You stand up straight as he yanks at your shirt and shoves you towards the door, You stumble but keep yourself silent, already leaving before you get personally targeted even more.
—--------------
Everyone’s looking at you strangely, and people don't even let you speak in their direction before they’re walking away. They glare at you for every yelled word, for every extra lap you never provoked, and especially the countless times the hot water has been cut for your group.
You sit by the lake not too far from the camp, trying to reign all the muddled feelings as you scrub at your hair with the salty water. Today your own teammates banned you from entering the showers, and the worst part was that they couldn't even do it with hatred in their eyes.
“Listen– you can't be here, okay? If you’re here, he’ll punish us all and we don't want that.”
“But I'm not even doing anything wrong! I’ll even take the cold water –”
And that’s how you ended up trudging down here, trying not to think too hard about whatever is bubbling beneath the water on the other side of the rocks. Just the other day you had to get a friend to sneak you a bread roll because of the food incident. What the hell would be next?
You didn't want to admit it but you were actually afraid, especially with how you wouldn't even blame your friends if they chose to stop talking to you as well. What if you really had been causing problems this entire time?
And you couldn't stop it if you tried. After all, you've been sleeping outside for the past week with new wounds appearing daily. You always promised that you’d push through everything, every rude instructor and pretentious high ranks too. You swore you wouldn't let it get to you, but you could feel it slipping past, eating at you.
—--------------------
The end of the course couldn't have come any slower, and everyone received their passing results save for the few who genuinely had caused nothing but issues in the other team. Then there was you– you who had him sneer in your face as you went home with no certification. Apparently since he had been the one assigned to grading you, that meant he had all the right to decide whether you passed or not. This time you didn't pick yourself back up– you had a small feeling he preferred when you had your face against the dirt– figuratively and literally.
You return to base and sit at the edge of a truck with silence towards you, even if it is all over. Maybe they believed he could still revoke their certifications too. Either way you left the truck last as the rain poured down, the contents of your bag spilled across a muddy puddle. You can't even blame him for this– it could be absolutely any of them.
Dragging the ruined fabrics inside, you ignore the looks others give your sodden state. Was Simon on deployment? What would he say when he found out you did all of that just to completely fail? This wasn't fair– you had tried so hard, you worked so hard just to be thrown under the bus because one guy didn't like the way you looked.
“Miss, you need to come with me.” You blink at the obvious higher rank standing right infront of your room door, and pause.
“Huh?”
You barely get a chance to question why when another three come out from around the corner and you immediately drop your things. “I didn't—I've— did he report me or something? I never—“
“Do not resist soldier, or we will use force.”
“Sorry— sorry, okay!” You hold your hands up high, realising this is not some kind of joke especially when two have guns pointed directly at you and something tells you they are not afraid to shoot someone as insignificant as you.
Two of the men come and grab your arms, restraining them behind your back as you squirm before eventually going lax— clearly you couldn’t do anything else but let this happen.
—————-
You’re escorted to an interrogation room, all your belongings stripped off you and then your hands locked into handcuffs on the table. Anxiously you bite at your lip— what the hell was actually going on? Eating more than you should did not lead to rooms like these nor measures this serious.
A lady on the older side enters the room clutching files, her badge reading CIA. “I want you to tell me everything that happened over the past weeks.” So you do— from when you arrived at your first meeting with entering the base, not forgetting the details of the General’s son's hatred for you. Of course, you had to phrase it differently though; even you weren't immune to being afraid of him. So his obvious bullying and harassment turned into him not liking you often and punishing you multiple times a day. And you just had to accept that.
She notes down the details, along with her own information, trying to see if it connects or not. A lie or the truth? You knew you were being honest, but she didn't, and that meant you may even be considered the enemy as of right now.
“You’ve been accused of leaking information, files from Captain Price’s office.” The woman suddenly says as she closes the file, stares hardened towards you. “I’ll give you one chance to confess.”
“I would never do that ever, Ma’am.” You shake your head adamantly but she doesn't seem too impressed. What the hell was she talking about– Did someone really report you for a crime this serious? Wouldn't Simon know you’d never do that?
Would he not defend you?
Obviously you want to argue, shake your head adamantly, and insist you’d absolutely never ever do that under any circumstances. But something tells you they won't believe you and just their opinions on you wont be enough.
You’re escorted to a sort of holding cell, consisting of a small room and bathroom and wake up groggily the next morning. Unfortunately, still in your soaked clothes, a cold is probably about to clog your throat.
And you just wait, hoping for them to come and get you, saying they’re sorry for the mistake and it was a misunderstanding. You wait past breakfast, lunch, and dinner, for a day on end. They gave you new attire on the second day thankfully, but you still couldn't get an ounce of sleep in fear. The other convicts in the other rooms were loud sometimes, violent and you’d see the guards run across, detaining them. On the third day you were taken for a medical exam. The regular ones were intrusive as it is, but paired with the non stop troubles this whole month, the prodding and poking at all your injuries didn't help.
It’s only on the fifth day, when you drag yourself to sit upright, does a key jingle in the lock of your door. “Good you’re up, we’re going.” The guard opens the door and you stand, quietly letting him cuff you and bring you back to the interrogation room once more.
Your eyes widen in relief when Price appears in the doorway, lips parting in surprise. Though immediately you shut up on seeing the Captain’s harsh gaze directed onto you as he enters the room. Beside him is the same woman from the CIA before.
If you speak out of turn, would they suspect you more? But if you only speak when spoken to, would they think you were trying to be calculated?
———————————
“I would never look at any of his files— he always keeps his drawers locked too! Ask him— he’ll tell you. He won't even tell me the country his missions are in—”
Even with your constant denying, they kept going through the claims against you. And with every single one, came another forged evidence. Supposed notes with your signature, pictures and videos taken out of context, testimonies from the people with you for the past few weeks.
Well, she was always getting into trouble for one thing or the other.. just to get sent to the infirmary too sometimes. I reckon she didn't even go, could’ve looked around for all we know.
She hardly slept with us for the past week or so, and she’d regularly go to the lake on her own. I saw her on the phone once or twice too.
She always muttered to herself and scribbled down notes when no one was looking— then she’d stash it with her other stuff.
How could you even argue against that? You did all of those things, but without the context you did try to give.. they didn't believe you. You couldn’t find it in yourself to try and fight any longer when they announced they’d be detaining you for a few days until the allegations were investigated properly. All you could do is fall quiet, give up slowly, knowing that it was your word against whatever higher up wanted you out of the picture.
——————
“Ghost, ah’m sure that it’s not them. He’s playin’ games with us— ye know this!” Soap pats a hand on the back of Ghost where they stand behind the one sided glass, watching your interrogation unfold.
He knows in his chest that it isn't you, deep in his heart, just from how you struggle and desperately argue the reasons for every single incriminating evidence that matches up so well. But Simon never trusts his heart, no it’s far too erratic most nights and he’s been in this job long enough to know when to keep it locked behind bars.
This all started a month ago, when he left for a mission during your course. An ally had betrayed them, or rather prioritised their own needs over lives.
“You know, Ghost, you really should look deeper at who you keep close to.” The American had laughed in his face as he called for his men, his arms crossed over his chest. “Just a thought.”
It only spiralled from there— he knew and trusted the team, but who else was there outside of it? The receptionist he passed by in the mornings? The lady in logistics he discussed plans with? The man in admin who handled file transfers?
You?
You.
He had drowned himself in nearly every single file when he returned from that mission, looking for every link to you even if it was something as stupid as when you slipped on a bar of soap and bruised your ass. Yes, that is in your medical records to your dismay. He found nothing in the slightest that could tie you to leaking secrets or the like. Sure you slept in his bed and occasionally used his desk as a hard surface when he didn't mind, but he always kept most important files locked away.
Then a report came from the parent team instructing you, supposedly anonymous but it seemed to be a soldier not worth mentioning anyway. You were acting strange. Sleeping outside of the tents, always sneaking off, causing trouble. Before that you had skittish behaviour when he got injured, sure he had been.. affectionate with you but what if that was a scheme too? Had he really fallen for it?
So he ignored every message you sent whilst at that camp, if anything giving you the driest responses possible to make sure you didn't try and run. It hurt him, especially when you’d try and subtly complain, too afraid to say too much else the instructors caught you bad mouthing them. You sent sad faces all the time, sometimes a voice message that would be deleted after, and he assumed you must’ve been so choked up on tears that you couldn't keep it there longer than a few minutes.
“She’s still denying.” Price reenters the room as you sit alone now, huffing and crossing his arms over his chest. “I showed her the evidence found in her belongings and she still won't confess.”
“That’s because she’s not the one who leaked the information.” Soap scoffs, elbowing Ghost in tandem, waiting for him to agree. “Ghost can confirm that, can’t he? Graves is just being a fuckin’ prick.”
“We can’t rule it out, Johnny.” Ghost says all too solemnly and Soap’s elbow falters, body going lax as he looks up at his lieutenant in shock.
“You can't be serious—”
“He’s right.” Price butts in, a frown set on his face. “Both of you should go, I don't want anyone thinking we’re getting biased here.”
Reluctantly Soap follows Ghost out of the room, but as he’s about to question him about what he just said, he’s already down the corridor. What the hell were they doing? This wasn't right in the slightest– how could they not blatantly see that it wasn't you?!
“How is it going?” Before he had even realised, he had made his way to the rec room and was standing before the kitchenette where Gaz was boiling water. Their mugs were already set on the counter, the steam slowly rising out of the kettle as he pours the coffee grains inside.
“Nowhere– she hasn't confessed because it’s not bloody her.” Soap huffs in response, bracing his palms on the counter as he huffs, watching the water turn the mugs to a murkier colour. At least Gaz understands, nodding along in tandem to his words, though that’s probably why they're both still sergeants. Sitting back and having to listen to the evidence is never fun.
“Let me guess, Price told you that we can't argue the facts against her?” He raises a brow, already knowing that he’d state the same thing he always does. Either way it makes Johnny snort.
“Not this time, but he implied it pretty fucking clearly when he glared at me.” He takes the mug with a small thank you before following him over to the couch, slouching against him all too quickly. “Don’t get me started on Ghost either– just sat there and watched.”
“Anything he turns in might end up being biased. Stupid too, if anyone knows her best it’s him.. I just cant understand why her team mates would lie too—-”
Before Gaz can finish, the door slams open, heavy boots approaching and they both look up as Ghost rips his mask off, and drops a pile of files in their before them.
“Second Lieutenant Shepherd.” He practically growls the words out, seething and they both look down in shock as they flicker through the logs of him being on that same trip as you, big circles around your name and connecting to the descriptions in a few of the witness testimonies. “The bastard has been framing her– and of course he’s the son of the General.”
“He may as well swear his allegiance to Graves than play these stupid games..” Johnny scoffs but pats Ghost's knee as he sits in front of them, still with his blood boiling. “We just need the proof now.”
“He must’ve threatened everyone else on that course. No wonder she was sleeping outside and going to the lake– he must’ve gave her no other option.” Gaz scoffs, equally as annoyed and Ghost nods along to his words.
“We’ll force the information out of them then– one of them has to spill.”
“Wait–” He stops Ghost as he begins to stand again, hand catching his sleeve. “I’ll do it. I think I have an idea that’ll work.”
—---------------------------------------------
Today you don't have the luxury of Price, no you’ve had a much harsher man who seemed like he wanted your blood personally painting his office. The questions were invasive, non stop and forceful, especially when he dug through your phone and looked through the messages you had sent to others.
You weren't some kind of double agent by complaining about the instructor, you were just another useless soldier regretting all the life choices that led you to sniffling over the phone to your friend back at base. He kept putting words in your mouth too, leaving you scrambling to defend yourself while he tried to use it against you, constantly interrupting and riling you up.
“Fine, you think you’re such a smart girl lying like this? Well, the General just approved for.. new methods to be used in our next meeting.” He snarls towards you, almost beginning to laugh to himself as he looks at the files a lowly private passed him. “Do you want to admit to anything now?”
You didn’t of course you didn't, stupid you, still being stubborn and so you were dragged back to that cell once more. This time your pillow is soaked from your tears, face buried in the flat thing as you do your best to contain it. Why hadn’t Simon contacted you once? Was he really out on a solo deployment?
He hadn't responded to any messages while you were at the camp and he hadn't come to see you once in this holding cell, even Soap had tried to get a peek at you sneakily whilst you were escorted away. Why the hell were you crying pathetically in here anyway? Well, probably because you were getting tortured by the organisation you signed up to and for something you hadn't even done.
—
“Of course, his bastard son.” Laswell scoffs as Price looks at the evidence given by his fuming Lieutenant, practically itching to just kill.
“Unfortunately it’s not proof enough— especially his rank. We need witnesses and confessions.” Price’s fingers grip the edge of the paper a little too harshly, trying his best to stay sane in the current situation. There was no holding back though when there was blatant proof you were innocent.
“Kyle’s gathering it.” Soap speaks up, a frown set on his face since he unfortunately had been told he’d just scare the rookies off altogether if he tried
“..Good. Ghost, come with me, we need to buy them some time.”
—---------------------------------
“You think that General’s son gives a shit about you? She’s about to get fuckin’ sliced up in there if you dont tell me the truth right now and you will be next.” His finger points at the chest of one of your prior teammates who is pressed up against the wall and likely about to piss himself.
Soap had sworn he wouldn't come near and yet here he was, staring around the corner and fighting the urge not to record the scene before him– he did not even know Kyle was capable of something so.. aggressive. But then again, they were all on the same team for a clear reason.
Naturally the rookie agreed quickly, telling him everything and confirming what they had heard from two others already. That was more than substantial evidence, and now they just had to get it back as fast as possible.
—————————————-
“That’s enough!” Price’s voice echoes out in the cold dark room you’re in, except you can't see him with the blindfold tight over your eyes.
“They approved—“ The man interrogating you starts to speak only for a rustle of clothing to immediately sound out, along with Price’s stern voice.
“I said enough. Why don't you make sure your witnesses aren't bribed before you start pointing fingers?” He argues, and all of a sudden someone’s slightly cold hands are on your face, unwrapping your blindfold.
You blink as light reaches your eyes for the first time in hours— maybe the first stop to this interrogation was by depriving you to make you go insane. Either way you’re glad to see Kyle as he fusses over you, making sure they haven't laid a hand on you.
He helps you upright, knowing your legs are probably wobbly from being sat still for so long and you hold onto his arm. Was it really all over?
“We’re going.” Price nods for you and Gaz to follow, and you look back one last time, eyes catching onto a glint of metal. It’s coming from a tray set near the chair you were tied to— sharp edges and in various sizes. Like ones you’d see in a butcher's shop.
—-
“I’m sorry Captain..” You sigh, rubbing at your arm to ease the anxiety buzzing through you as Kyle holds you close. He looks pissed, and he doesn't even answer, just shakes his head at you before continuing to walk.
Eventually you reach a meeting room and you’re ushered in, only to come face to face with the woman who you talked to initially.
“Ma’am.” You salute in respect, even if you wince with the movement. Even if it’s only been days in that, it feels like years. What if it wasn't the end..? What if they had decided worse for you?
“Apologies for.. before. Thanks to the 141, there’s more than enough evidence to prove you’re innocent.”
All you can do is just nod firmly to her words, suddenly feeling very small in this room with elite soldiers. You’re not sure even why this is the only time you’ve felt the gap between you too, but it’s stronger than ever. It dissolves quickly however when you make eye contact with Simon across the table, your promise to him before only replacing the feeling with guilt instead.
“We need you to tell us everything you heard about the General’s son. No reservations this time.”
So you do, for the next couple of hours, answering any questions they have. They mainly just want to know how he acted, anything awfully suspicious, or anything you even heard that you wouldn’t typically repeat.
“How did he act in training?” Price asks, and the woman you now know to be Laswell glances towards you too.
“He was harsh on me, but other than that he knew his stuff, I didn't doubt for a second he was a professional. The way he handled situations just made him feel like a nepo baby..”
“Handle situations?”
“He’d blow up on us like it was bootcamp— well, he blew up on me. Not so much anyone else unless they did something that actually would call for it..” You shrug, half expecting them to want to know more about what he did to you. As if remembering, the scars and bruises throbbing along your arms, rubbing against the hardness of this chair.
Thankfully they had gotten you water to chug down, which you’d been sipping non stop to try and keep yourself awake. All the sleep you had gotten since coming back was barely any better than what you had there, probably worse with your body aching and sore.
“Alright that’s it for now. Kyle, Johnny, c’mere and look at…”
Their voices start to fade out in your ears as they move to all stand around the table, Simon forced to put his back to you and concentrate on the task at hand. Besides, as long as you were out of immediate danger, it’d be fine.
You were starting to question if it was really okay for them to speak about important topics when you were sitting right here. It’s not like he dismissed you anyway, and you’re too nervous to even think about asking for anything. You probably shouldn't try to play victim either— as far as they knew, you came back from camp probably tired that's all, and unfortunately had to go in the cold cells for a couple of days whilst this went down. Hardly the crime of the century.
Right.. it’s not important, you should just sit quietly and obediently, do absolutely anything you can to not make Price glare at you again like he had in the interrogation room. Anything—
“Hey— Earth to Rookie?”
You snap out of it, eyes drooped to see Kyle standing above you, a concerned look over his face. Suddenly you see the entire room staring at you, and you swallow quickly. “S-sorry, i was just making sure I didn't forget anything. Did you want something?”
Oh shit, Price is staring at you again, what if he really does get angry again? Any CO getting angry was nothing compared to having this Captain’s glare on you— half because of the sharpness but closer to the fact you know he absolutely does have the intention and execution behind each one.
His looks do kill.
“Do you want to go back to your room?” He asks, his words going slower in your tired brain and you freeze. Was this a trick question?
“W-whatever’s easier for you, sir.” You stammer out, much to your dismay, but at least you seem a bit more awake now.
“Go, you need the rest. Kyle, go get her food and come back when you’re done. We have a lot to talk about.”
A sinking guilt starts to form in your gut as the sergeant listens to his captain immediately— had you really ruined their whole meeting because you were a bit tired? Oh- no, no, this is wrong— you didn't mean that!
“C’mon. The cell food definitely wasnt good.” Kyle gently wraps a hand around your arm and you stand almost immediately, glancing between all of them. Simon definitely wouldnt be back tonight.
—---------------
He screenshots the uber receipt, ready to ask a favour of a fellow soldier to bring the food here when it arrives– he definitely won't let you go and get it. Just as he sends the message you come out of the shower, now dressed in more comfortable clothes, and stinking less of damp now.
“I got someone to grab food for you, here I grabbed a few drinks from the rec room too.” He gestures to the small table where he has his favourites, and the few he’s seen you drink too. But he pauses when he looks up at you, catching a glimpse of marks beneath your sleeves.
“During training..” You mumble, because why should he care further– they’ve gotten much worse than this and come out smiling. If you were a strong soldier, you wouldn't dare to complain even if it was because of unjust treatment.
‘When you’re in a real fight, you won't be whining about what's fair and what's not, your only focus will be to survive.’
That’s what they’ve drilled into your head, even more so in that interrogation room with that man. A real soldier doesn't tell such lies to comfort themselves– they accept the facts for what they are worth.
“Maybe you should swing by the infirmary tomorrow?”
“Yeah, i will.” You probably shouldnt worry him any further else he starts to think you’re stupid and self sacrificing too. Besides, that medical exam you had for the interrogation didn't actually do much but take note of your injuries, and even then they didn't seem to care too much. Almost like they wanted to find things against you.
“Okay.. i’ll see you tomorrow. Try and get a good sleep okay?”
He leaves you for the night, and you dont get spend much more dwelling the past days, or the past months, falling into a deep sleep immediately. Though a small part of you does shuffle up to the side of the bed in hopes Simon would sink down next to you by morning.
I'm begging you to do a little continuation of the shy medic reader x Ghost
- ———
Summary: You’re an introverted medic in Task Force 141, comfortable talking to everyone except Ghost — who somehow makes you so nervous you can’t look him in the eyes. Ghost secretly finds it adorable.
Simon “Ghost” Riley x Introverted!Reader — “Eyes Up Here”
Part 1 ,Part 2
———
You couldn’t sleep peacefully.
Not even for a second.
Every time you closed your eyes, it replayed—too vivid, too close. The way it happened so suddenly, like the air itself had snapped. The warmth. The shock of it.
Him.
Eventually, you forced yourself up.
You had a job to do.
You could be normal.
You would be normal.
—-
These past few days would mostly end with you patching him up again.
You started noticing it the third time.
Ghost didn’t get hurt.
Not like this.
Not small, careless injuries that somehow always landed him in your care—cuts that weren’t deep enough to slow him down, bruises that didn’t match the precision he moved with on the field. He was too good. Too controlled.
Too… deliberate.
And yet—
There he was again.
Sitting on the edge of the cot like he owned the place, sleeve pushed up just enough to expose another shallow gash.
You didn’t even look at him at first.
“Sit still,” you muttered, already reaching for gauze.
He huffed—quiet, almost amused.
“I am sitting still.”
Your jaw tightened.
That voice. Always calm. Always like he knew something you didn’t.
You stepped closer, cleaning the wound with more force than necessary.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even blink.
That’s what did it.
You paused.
Slowly looked up.
And for once—you didn’t look away.
“…You’re doing it on purpose.”
Silence.
For half a second, you almost thought you’d imagined it—your own boldness echoing too loudly in your chest.
Then—
You saw it.
That faint shift under the mask. The smallest curve. A smirk.
Your heart stuttered.
“Doing what, doc?” he asked, voice lower now.
You swallowed, but didn’t back down.
“These,” you gestured vaguely at his arm, fingers hovering just above his skin. “You don’t get sloppy. Not like this.”
Another step closer—this time, him.
Close enough that you could feel it. The space between you shrinking, tightening, suffocating.
“And if I was?” he murmured.
Your heart was going insane.
Beating too fast, too loud, like it was trying to give you away.
But somehow—somehow—you held your ground.
“Oh yeah?” you shot back, lifting your chin slightly. “Then you should do something about it”
There it was.
The shift.
The air changed.
Something heavier. Sharper.
His head tilted, just slightly.
“…Cute,” he muttered.
You blinked.
“You did not just call me cute.”
That smirk deepened—this time unmistakable.
“You’re even cuter when you’re grumpy.”
Your face burned.
“Stop saying that—”
And then it happened too fast.
You moved at the same time he did—or maybe neither of you moved at all, maybe the space just… disappeared.
Your words cut off as your lips collided.
Messy. Sudden. Not planned.
Your brain didn’t even catch up at first—just the warmth, the shock, the way everything in you stilled for half a second before crashing back twice as hard.
His hand came up—not rough, not soft either—just enough to steady you, like he expected you to pull away.
You didn’t.
You should have.
But you didn’t.
And when you finally did break apart, it wasn’t far.
Still too close.
Still breathing the same air.
Your heart felt like it might actually explode this time.
“…You’re insufferable,” you whispered, but it lacked any real bite.
He exhaled quietly, almost a laugh.
“Didn’t hear you complaining.”
———
A/n: sry for not updating lately but don’t worry I have more coming uppp
Summary: You’re an introverted medic in Task Force 141, comfortable talking to everyone except Ghost — who somehow makes you so nervous you can’t look him in the eyes. Ghost secretly finds it adorable.
Simon “Ghost” Riley x Introverted!Reader — “Eyes Up Here”
Part 1 , Part 2
- ———
You were never shy—at least, that’s what you told everyone.
You just preferred quiet. Preferred not being the center of attention. Preferred slipping into the background where people didn’t look too closely.
It worked with almost everyone in 141.
Soap? Easy. He talked enough for three people. Gaz? Chill, easy-going, made conversations feel like breathing. Price? Respectful, calm, fatherly.
Ghost?
…Ghost was the problem.
Not because he ever did anything wrong.
But because every time he stood near you—silent, broad-shouldered, cold eyes watching—you forgot basic human functions.
You could chat comfortably with the squad, but the second Simon Riley stepped into the room your eyes would immediately find anything else: the wall, your boots, the table. Never his face.
And Ghost noticed.
He always noticed.
Today was no different. Everyone was gathered around the briefing table, exhaustion thick after a long mission. You stood beside him only because Soap shoved you there when Price called for everyone to squeeze in closer.
You risked a glance up—only for your gaze to stop somewhere at his jawline.
Ghost raised a brow behind the mask.
“My eyes are up here, y’know.”
Your heart stopped. Your voice completely abandoned you.
You swallowed, cheeks burning, and looked away without saying a word.
Ghost’s stare lingered for a long moment—long enough that Soap nudged him.
When the meeting ended and you escaped the room like your life depended on it, Ghost watched you leave.
“Cute,” he muttered under his breath.
Soap turned. “What was that?”
Ghost immediately cleared his throat. “Nothin’. Focus on the brief, Sergeant.”
Soap smirked. He knew exactly what he heard.
Later in the base…
Your room was your sanctuary.
After patching up 141 all day, you showered, changed into soft pyjamas—tank top, loose shorts—and finally let yourself breathe.
Music played softly through your speaker.
Venus – Bananarama.
You loved this song.
Knew every beat, every little hip movement. So you danced. Freely, confidently, alone—spinning, shaking your shoulders, mouthing the lyrics with a grin.
For once you weren’t medic of 141.
You were just… you.
You didn’t know the door had cracked open.
You didn’t hear the quiet chuckle.
Ghost leaned on the frame, arms crossed, mask slightly lifted in amusement you never got to see.
He watched you—watched you—absolutely owning your little private performance.
He hadn’t expected this from you. The shy one. The one who could barely look him in the eye.
But damn… you were adorable.
When you twirled with a little dramatic pose, he bit back a real laugh.
Then he stepped away, shaking his head with a soft grin.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself. “Didn’t know she had that in her.”
the thing is that childhood doesn't just end when you turn 18 or when you turn 21. it's going to end dozens of times over. your childhood pet will die. actors you loved in movies you watched as a kid will die. your grandparents will die, and then your parents will die. it's going to end dozens and dozens of times and all you can do is let it. all you can do is stand in the middle of the grocery store and stare at freezers full of microwave pizza because you've suddenly been seized by the memory of what it felt like to have a pizza party on the last day of school before summer break. which is another ending in and of itself
I genuinely think telling everyone RUINS it because you know they have certain expectations. If you tell no one you're more relaxed, don't feel like you're running out of time to finish it.
Now, of course, it depends on the project but yeah.
im just thinking about it now but sas is literally supposed to be a temporary thing for most soldiers, a couple years at most, and theyre only usually actually on field for rotations that last a couple months at a time... but ghost isnt at all bound by these rules because theres no record of him so while the rest of them are off field he can be pulled willy nilly by shepherd into whatever operation he decides and ghost has no say in that
it gets eviller the longer i think about it cause ghost literally could be stuck in the sas for the rest of his life, rotated through the squadrons maybe so nobody clocks on, and every other CO only serves there for a short amount of time and most only do it once, so he literally has such a small chance of someone who is able to do anything noticing that he's been there for way longer than he should be...
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