⁘ bradley bradshaw, the notoriously ill mannered head chef at the small franchise pub down the street, is quite content with his fast paced job. no commitments or obligations outside of his kingdom of sharp knives, pots, pans, prep work and a shot of jäger after a double. that is until a new waitress is hired, and suddenly his strict and rigid rules of no obligations or commitments starts to waver. . .
› pairing; bradley bradshaw x f!reader
× warnings; swearing, slow burn-ish, mentions of alcohol, general misogynistic type of workplace, protective rooster, miscommunication, eventual smut.
tag list: @junosbugs @lovelyladymayyy @specialagentmonkey @elle-writes-things @anotherrickinthewall
“Sweets, it’s one drink at a shitty pub, not a fucking car.” Sydney handed her card over to the bartender to cover your beer as you considered plucking the plastic out of her hands and gently placing it back into her pocket.
“I’m fucking pathetic! I can’t even afford a beer anymore!” you shouted over the lively 6 p.m. chatter. The Hickory Lane Pub was a crowd favorite amongst the locals, and amongst you and your friends. Shitty establishment, but the vibes were never off, and the drinks were good. Plus, the owner’s son was an old friend of Sydney’s so he always gave her a discount on food.
“My love,” Sydney rested a gentle hand on your shoulder, looking at you dead in the eyes with the most serious expression on her face. “You have to give yourself a break. The last of your tip money is gonna go towards that shitty washing machine and you don’t get your paycheck until Friday.” The sincerest of smiles formed on your friend’s lips, pleading with you to understand. “You’re slowly figuring shit out, and you’re doing it well.”
You scoffed, realizing your own stupidity because Syd was right. You were finally getting back on track after everything was seemingly falling apart. Maybe it was time you took a break.
So you sat in your favorite pub with your best friend and enjoyed a couple of cold beers, your mind constantly wandering back to the man you’d left in your flat eleven hours ago. It wasn’t that you were avoiding him, or that you were uncomfortable being around him. No. You just didn’t know what to expect when you got back, and that made you a little nervous.
Would he be mad that you left this morning?
Would his things take up all the space in the living room?
Oh, God forbid you would have to move your garage sale chaise lounge into your room, a mocking voice in your head interjected your thoughts.
It was pointless being nervous when there was literally nothing you could do to change the circumstances now. You’d been the one who was all too pleased to let a stranger share a living space with you. Now you’d be the one to deal with the consequences.
At 6:33, you decided it was time to stop being a pussy and go back to your flat, so you quickly said goodbye to Sydney and then walked out into the still freezing December weather. Your pace quickened as you approached the Tesco, needing a minute of reprieve from the cold and a box of tampons. The last of the money in your checking account was gonna have to be enough to cover it.
You wandered into the store, heading to the back where you knew the tampons were located. It was supposed to be a quick in and out on your way home, but you were stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of a familiar head of moppy brown hair.
For a second, you stood frozen in time as you watched Ethan bend down to grab something from the bottom shelf, then stand up and throw it into his basket before sliding an arm around a girl’s waist. Whether it was fear or humiliation that immobilized you, you didn’t know, but your brain yelled at you to turn around and run away while your body forced you in place in the middle of the aisle.
The air around you buzzed as you watched Ethan’s head turn to look at you, surprise etching onto his face when he noticed who was standing before him. For a second, he stood frozen too, but when he dropped his arm from around the girl’s waist and started towards you, his lips forming words that your ears didn’t have the capacity to hear, you were finally able to move.
And move you did, doing a full 180 and speed-walking out of the Tesco like your ass was on fire. Fuck the tampons, you’d sooner shove the plastic applicator up there than share the same air as Ethan Campbell again.
In the distance, you heard Ethan’s voice yelling out your name, trying to get your attention, but you weren’t having any of it. Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this.
You maintained your speed as you walked home, although you did slow down the more your legs grew tired of the exercise. A couple glances behind you and it was becoming evident that Ethan had every intention of following you home. What the fuck was he doing?
You broke out into a run, feeling genuine fear for your safety as the man behind you continued to follow. Approaching your building, you took another peek behind you, noticing that Ethan had grown closer, but was now standing frozen.
You stopped as well, a fearsome anger building in your chest because of the entire ordeal, your lungs constricting with the effort it took to push a breath out. He had just scared the absolute living shit out of you, and for what? Just for a laugh?
“What the fuck did you think you were doing, asshole? Chasing a woman down just to give her a scare?” You were fully facing Ethan now, your back to the building door. You pulled your mace out of your pocket and kept you finger poised over the button in case the fucker tried something with you. “You pathetic, useless piece of shit! I dare you to fuck with me. I DARE YOU!” You were screaming at the top of your lungs, the words barely able to leave you, but you were fucking furious and not ready to back down.
Even from several feet away, you saw Ethan’s entire demeanor change. Where he was once confidently chasing you through the streets, he was now cowering away, slowly backing up until he turned around and just walked away in the other direction.
All that could really explain what just happened was the mace. You looked at it, then back at Ethan’s retreating form, a triumphant smile taking over your features.
“Was he bothering you?” a deep voice you recognized well broke the silence looming in the air. Your smile faded as you turned to face your flatmate.
Standing face-to-face with the chest of the 6’4 giant, his arms crossed over and his stance wide and ready to pounce, you noticed how immaculately built the guys was; like the Gods themselves had had their hand at sculpting his physique. You were never so shallow as to only ever care about a man’s physical appearance, but you were a woman. One who noticed a nice body here and there.
“How-” You cleared your suddenly dry throat, your heartbeat refusing to settle down to its regular pace. “How long have you been standing there?” you finished your question, voice coming out a touch breathless.
“’Bout a minute. Came down to throw away the trash,” Ghost pointed a thumb at the black trash bag sitting by the door. “Saw you running this way and a guy following you.” Ghost’s eyes narrowed under his balaclava, looking over at the man walking away.
You let out a sigh, the real reason why Ethan cowered away becoming clear.
Choosing to let go of the defeat you felt, you plastered a fake smile on your face. “Don’t worry about him. Just my ex,” you waved your hands through the air. But when Ghost turned his narrowed gaze onto you, you knew he didn’t believe your words.
“He go around chasin’ you often?” Ghost’s eyes roamed all over your face, as if picking it apart for any signs of an untruth. That simple perusal was making your body flush with a heat it hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Heh,” you let out a nervous chuckle, shifting your weight from one leg to another. “No…”
Ghost just grunted in response. “He’d be smart not to bother you again.”
His deep voice, smooth as whiskey, had not gone unnoticed last night, or this morning. It’s just that you had other things on your mind to worry about, so it wasn’t until now that you noticed how the timbre was making your heart flutter.
“I’ll do him the service of not telling him that,” you joked, trying to distract yourself from your body’s inappropriate reactions to a man who just trying to be a decent guy.
“Head inside,” Ghost said, picking up the trash bag next to him. “I’m gonna throw this out.” His voice was so assertive that you felt like you had to listen to his every command or face the consequences. This little dynamic between the two of you was jarring; you never let someone tell you what to do. But something inside made you want to listen to Ghost. To not disappoint him.
Strange.
As you made your way up the stairs, the hours from the day prior started catching up with you. Your feet ached, your back hurt, and you were getting a headache because you hadn’t eaten since lunch.
At least you had your leftovers to look forward to.
As soon as you turned the key in the lock and opened the front door, the aroma of something hit you square in the face. It smelled decedent and made your mouth water, your stomach grumbling even louder as you stepped into the flat and placed your purse on a chair. That’s also when you noticed that the stove was covered in pans and the counters were littered with vegetables and bottles of spices.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Ghost said as he entered through the front door, removing his shoes before closing the door and returning to the kitchen.
“You’re making food.” You said it as statement more than a question because something about seeing a hot man in the kitchen making dinner was messing with the wires in your brain.
“Steak and mashed potatoes,” Ghost confirmed, looking up at you for a second. He watched for a second how you looked at him in wonder, as if this was a sight you’d never witnessed, before returning to the task at hand. “You’re more than welcome to join me if you’d like.”
And secretly, Ghost hoped against all hope that you’d say yes.
“Uh,” you let out a breathless chuckle, still a little dazed. Of course you wouldn’t be delusional enough to assume that Ghost had made dinner for you.
“Or you can stick with your Indian. Not a problem for me,” Ghost lied. But it was a big problem for him. He wanted you to eat the food he made.
“Yeah. Why not?” You decided a fresh, home cooked meal was probably better than your two-day old leftovers anyway.
A small smile tipped the corners of Ghost’s lips up, though it was hidden by the fabric covering his face. You’d never know how happy those words had made him.
Feigning indifference, Ghost gestured to the dining table. “Have a seat then.”
Tag list: @junosbugs @lovelyladymayyy @specialagentmonkey
You fucked up. Big time.
You conveniently forgot to mention to that Simon guy that you had work in the morning, and now he’s on his way over to the flat in five minutes and you need to leave for work in fifteen.
You barely had time to brush your teeth in the morning, throwing on last night’s mostly clean uniform and brushing back your hair before putting it in a ponytail. Possibly the worst decision you made was to promise Erica you’d be at the restaurant this morning. Now you were even farther behind on your schoolwork and doubly stressed because you had a prospective roommate who was gonna see what a mess you were and decide he’d have to pass on living with you.
“FUCK!” you yelled as you hurriedly tried to put your shoes on, the back flap bending down and refusing to go over your heel. Frustration rose and you felt like a pot of boiling water about to pour over the lip of the pan; your anger, stress, misery…everything, amalgamating into a giant soul-crushing sob.
The pair of ugly black non-slip shoes that refused to adjust themselves to your feet were now laying on the other side of the room, the force with which you had thrown them leaving behind a brash scuff mark on the otherwise pristine wall.
An intense pressure built up in your chest and refused to release, your eyes stinging with the onslaught of tears that forced their way down your cheeks. You’d been able to hold it together for the last week, but it was time everything caught up to you.
Your situation, though it could be worse, was not where you wanted to be at this point in your life; twenty-six, looking for a roommate, working a job that barely paid just so you could keep a roof over your head and get the education you so desperately needed. You thought you’d have figured your life out by now.
And you were trying, dammit. There wasn’t a moment in your existence where you hadn’t had to fight for what you needed, and you were sick of it. For once, you just wanted someone to be willing to give something to you.
The despair you were feeling showed no signs of letting up, almost paralyzing you in place as you hugged yourself. Your head now hurt from how hard you were crying, slumped over next to the bed in a fit of sobs.
You didn’t know how long you had been sitting there like that when you heard a harsh knock from the front door.
“Right. How could I forget,” you deadpanned, trying to rid your voice of its croaky-ness as you made your way out of your room. You quickly wiped at your eyes to dry them, but soon realized that your five-minute sob fest probably left a more lasting impact on your face. Because when you opened the door and slowly shifted your gaze up to glance at a face, what you saw instead was a set of narrowed brown eyes peeking out through the holes of a black ski mask.
“Sorry,” the man said, looking at you suspiciously. “I must have the wrong flat.” But you recognized his voice from the call last night
“Simon, right?” you confirmed.
“Ghost,” he said, his voice gruff and assertive.
“What?”
“I prefer to be called Ghost.” Again, with the no-bullshit tone that was forcing you to comply.
“O-Okay.” You didn't even question why; it was an odd nickname, for sure, but you didn't have the time to delve into it. So with a deep breath and a fake smile plastered on your face, you moved on. “Sorry ‘bout the mess you’re about to witness. I’ve had no time to clean.” You stepped away from the door to let the man in.
His staggering height was surprising to witness. You weren’t short by any means, but you’d also rarely ever come across people this tall. It was gonna become a problem if you had to crane your neck ninety-degrees every time you needed to talk to the guy.
It was also strange, and a little off-putting, that he was wearing a ski mask. You’d understand if he was wearing it outside because of the cold weather, but indoors? That’s curious. And also something you didn’t have the time to question right now.
Simon stepped inside the flat and walked over to the living room; you passed by him into the kitchen. “So down that hallway are the rooms.” You used your free hand to point down the hallway to your right, your other hand reaching into the fridge to grab your lunch for the day. “Yours is the one on the right, the bathroom is on the left. There’s only one, so we’ll have to share.” A brief pause as you threw the Tupperware and a water bottle into your purse. “Rent is due on the 3rd of every month, but you don’t have to worry about the rest of this month; it’s already paid.” The spare key that you took from Ethan lay untouched on the kitchen counter. You grabbed it and walked over to Si- Ghost, whose broad back was still facing you.
“Here are the keys,” you jangled them as close to his ear as you could, catching the man’s attention. He turned around to face you, this time his eyes showing nothing. You couldn’t read him anymore.
You acted as if Ghost had already said yes and you were just giving him a tour for the sake of it, but really, you hoped the fake confidence you exuded deterred him from your most likely puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.
“That’s it, then?” he asked, eyeing the keys you held out but not making a move to take them.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re about to hand a man you barely know a set of keys to your flat. Hell, you’re about to let this man live in your goddamn flat without knowing if he’s a criminal or a creep.” Ghost’s tone was more livid than condescending, as if he couldn’t believe you were doing what you were doing.
And maybe you should’ve been more scared. Not only was Ghost tall, but he was muscular, and wore a ski mask, and had a deeper voice than you’d ever heard from a man. You should have been terrified.
But you weren’t. Nothing about Ghost, neither his demeanor nor his disposition, was giving you a bad vibe. He just looked like a man who really needed somewhere to live, and you were a woman who really needed someone to take the extra room in her flat. It was a win-win.
“Are you criminal or a creep?” you asked, pretending to do some sort of due diligence.
“Of course not,” Ghost replied, his dead eyes morphing into something of slight annoyance.
“Great, then here are the keys.” You shoved the metal towards Ghost’s chest, forcing him to take it. With that, you grabbed your purse, slung your coat over your arm, put on a pair of white sneakers that your boss would hate but would let slide for today, and started for the front door.
“Where’re you going?” Ghost sounded exasperated. Like you had suddenly become a nuisance to him.
“Uhm, work. I’m running late.” You twisted the knob and were halfway out the door when he got your attention again.
“You really wanna do this?” he asked, still rooted to his place in the living room.
You barely contemplated your answer. “Look, I’ll take my chances.” You breathed a heavy sigh. “For once, I need something in my life to go right.”
Not waiting for a reply, you closed the door behind you and sprinted out of the building.
Ghost stood in the now empty apartment, still a little dazed by the whirlwind of a morning he’d just had. He couldn’t bring himself to question why he was so exasperated by the thought of you letting him live with you. It was some sort of instinct within him that told him to reprimand you for letting a stranger reside in your flat with you, though he knew he wasn’t a threat to anyone but himself.
“Jesus,” he muttered into the messy space, forcing his feet down the hallway to take a look at his new room. The space was empty save for a floor lamp that was meant to illuminate the room in the dark. Ghost wondered what the area was used for prior to his arrival, though the conditions of the walls and floors made it seem like it wasn’t used at all.
A ding reverberated through the stale air of the room, Ghost realizing the noise came from his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket to see a text message. From you.
Don’t touch the Indian takeout in the fridge. That’s my dinner.
Ghost chuckled, shaking his head. If anything, at least you had your priorities straight.
He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, spotting said Indian takeout, some condiment bottles, a half-eaten sandwich, and some fruits. But no veggies in sight.
A moment of deliberation and Ghost new what he would be doing today, besides moving in, of course. He didn’t know when you’d be back, but he assumed it wouldn’t be for a while.
a/n: thank you to the beautiful @junosbugs for giving me a stellar idea for a forced proximity fic. ily.
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Fucking bullshit. Distance was turning your heart sour.
By the end of the day, he would be back on your couch, probably smelling of cheap liquor and even cheaper cologne. Maybe his hair would be disheveled, as if someone ran their hands through it, or maybe he’d have a lipstick stain on the collar of his hideous grey button-up.
But this was Ethan you were talking about. If anything, he’d go to lengths to cover up his tracks. Try to manipulate you into thinking it was all in your head, as if you didn’t have the proof sitting in front of you.
You happened upon the texts so innocently, yet you weren’t surprised that this had happened at all. And it wasn’t sadness that overcame you at the betrayal, but rather annoyance that you’d put with his bullshit for so long.
“Fuck.” You picked your phone up to see a couple of messages from friends but none from Ethan. But why would he text you? He didn’t think anything was wrong.
You were tired of everything. Your shitty job, your shitty flat, your shitty boyfriend. You couldn’t even muster up the strength to get yourself out of bed this morning, let alone bring yourself to care about how you were gonna pay for said shitty flat once you kicked Ethan out.
But you wanted to be done with him. Here and now. So you reluctantly rolled out of bed and in a split-second decision, started gathering up every one of Ethan’s belongings; clothes, shoes, socks, underwear, his stupid guitar that he didn’t even know how to play, and you dumped that shit on the sidewalk downstairs. Fuck it. People could take whatever they wanted; it wasn’t your problem anymore.
Another few trips up and down the building and now your closet was half empty and you felt a lot better. You sent the incriminating screenshots and a picture you took of Ethan’s stuff on the dirty sidewalk to him, the words ‘It’s over’ trailing along in the next message. You wouldn’t let him explain himself. It wasn’t worth it.
Half an hour later, with your phone blowing up with messages and calls, you sat at your windowsill with a cup of coffee in your hands, staring out at the street below you, quietly observing. You had anticipated Ethan coming back, and as you watched a familiar head of moppy brown hair in an ill-fitting suit charge down the street and into the building, you realized that this was all well and truly over.
The knock on your door a couple minutes later was aggressive, the voice calling out your name and demanding you open the door even more so.
Without haste, you set your mug down on dining table next to you and approached the door, opening it so that only your face could peek through.
“Hey stranger,” you smiled, peering at Ethan’s red face.
“What the fuck, babe!?” he shouted, an octave you recognized well.
“You’re gonna want to keep your voice down, babe. The neighbors might complain.”
“Fuck the fucking neighbors. Why the fuck is all my shit out on the road!?”
You really did try to hold back your laugh. Honestly. But the incredulity of his question stunned you, and you didn’t know how else to respond.
“Am I stupid?” you asked after your fit of laughter died down.
“Huh?”
“Am. I. Stupid?” you reiterated.
“No?” Ethan stood up stalk straight, confused at your line of questioning.
“Ok,” you nodded. “So why the fuck did you think you could make a fool out of me?”
Ethan scrambled for a response, then decided to pull the dumbest one out of his ass. “No, babe. You’ve got it all wrong. That’s not me. I didn’t send those texts.”
“Right, and I’m assuming you didn’t send those videos of you jerking off your shriveled dick to those girls either?”
Ethan’s face paled, a heavy silence sitting in the air as he stared at you. He tried forming words, but you watched as they died a quick death on his tongue.
“I put up with your shit for a long time because I thought I loved you. But let me tell you something.” You leaned your head out the door a little further, as if you were about to let him in on a secret. “Even your parents knew when to cut you loose before you ruined their lives.”
You knew you’d hit the mark when Ethan’s face turned from anguish to fury. His parents cutting ties with him was a sore spot that he still didn’t know how to deal with. And you wanted to twist the knife until it hurt.
“Oh, and I’m keeping the X-Box. I paid for it anyway.” With those final words, you snatched the key Ethan was still holding in his hand and slammed the door in his face. You heard the faint voice of your neighbor echoing in the hallway, to which Ethan said something about everything being fine. And yes, everything would be fine. As soon as the tears stopped falling.
***
‘Room for rent. Urgently need a flatmate. Pls contact.’
You read over the ad to make sure all the pertinent information was listed since you hadn’t gotten any calls about it yet. It’d been up for a week now, and you’d been taking more shifts to hopefully cover the rent for next month in case you weren’t able to find someone to rent the extra room out. That also meant you had less time to spend on school, but finishing your masters was seeming less daunting than keeping a roof over your head. All for a better future, you told yourself as you took a drag of your cigarette.
“’Ey,” Sammy called out to you in his thick Scottish accent as he exited into the back alley where you were taking your break. “Busy day.”
“Understatement of the century. It’s a fucking fish market in there.” With the holidays approaching, it seemed like every family in the city wanted to frequent the restaurant you waitressed at. That meant more work, but hey, it also meant more tip money in your pocket.
“Can I bum off you?” Sammy questioned, holding out his hand for your cigarette.
“Smoke your own.” You reared back. “I’m broke and this is the only luxury I allow myself.”
Sammy chuckled and shook his head, pulling out his own pack. You watched the cloud of smoke exiting your lungs, taking solace in the shapes it formed as it dissipated in the air.
“Oi, by the way,” Sammy interjected after a few minutes of silence. “My cousin’s son ‘as a colleague who’s looking fer a new living arrangement in the city. Passed on yer number to the lad.”
"Really?” A sudden rush of relief coursed through you. You seldom felt so stressed out, even when you were working your way through undergrad. But now, it was starting to feel like if you didn’t get your shit straight, you’d have to drop out of school and move back home. And you couldn’t do that.
You had contemplated calling your mom a few times, but you doubted she had any money herself. It all probably went to the liquor and pills anyways.
“Thank you. You’re a life saver.”
“Sure. And just so ya know, the offer still stands.”
You shook your head. “Thank you, Sammy. But I can’t take your money.”
“It’s just a loan,” Sammy shrugged, taking a pull of his Marlboro.
“I know.” You dropped the remainder of your cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with your shoe. “But I don’t like owing people anything.”
Sammy chuckled again, but thankfully dropped the subject. You couldn’t even bring yourself to borrow money from your mother, let alone a coworker.
Checking the time on your phone, you let out a long groan. “I’ll see you back in there.” You headed back into the restaurant, the warm air surrounding you like a blanket and the smell of steak making your stomach grumble. You should’ve opted for a snack instead of a smoke.
The rest of your shift was a lot of the same, all fake smiles and rancidly sweet customer service voices. Running back and forth and back and forth, putting on your best act so you could get a decent tip. It was exhausting. You hated every second of it, but you weren’t in a particularly good mood these days.
When it finally came time to close, the Maître d’ allowed you to leave early per your generous request to be there bright and early next morning to help set up.
The walk home was frigid, the December air chilling you to the bone and turning your nose pink. It wasn’t a long walk back to the flat, but you were always cautious of your surroundings, holding your purse tight to your body and keeping a fast pace.
In your rush to get back to your bed, you almost didn’t notice your phone buzzing in your pocket. Against your better judgement, you took it out and saw an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.
“Hello?” you said into the phone. The person on the line didn’t reply, so you pulled your phone away to see if the call had connected.
“Yes, sorry.” A gruff voice finally spoke up as you brought the device back to your ear. “My name is Simon Riley. I got this number from John. Said you were looking to rent out your room?”
“Oh, yeah. Hi.” You didn’t know why your voice was coming out flustered. “It’s still available, if you’re interested.”
“I am. Very much.”
You chuckled at the bored tone of his voice. He sounded anything but.
“Um, okay. Did you want to come see the place or something? See if it’s the right fit?” You suggested it to be polite, but really, you wanted to see this man to gauge whether he was the right fit. You could deal with messy, noisy roommates, but you would not let an unknown man share a space with you before deciding you were comfortable with him.
a/n: i linked this one to ao3 a week or so ago, but i figured i'd do it now i'm procrastinating the next chapter to adamantine chains lmao this is my take on the bookstore au
tags: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, cursing, signs of ptsd, , original female character, retirement from the military, bookstore au
6.7k words
summary: He takes her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.
"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.
She kisses him over the mask.
She doesn't mention it the next day.
The official order rolled in on plain white paper, an unceremonious carrier of his future. He was the first to go: a sign that the team was being unraveled slowly. After all, they're not young men anymore.
"You'll receive your pension; it's enough that you shouldn't have to work again. And we've made sure that you have an official background. It's not much, but it's what we can do."
Laswell doesn't move her eyes from his, her fingers clutching a pen so hard her knuckles are white.
"It's for the best Simon," she says, setting the pen down carefully on her desk, "and if it makes you feel better: everyone will be released soon. I'm sorry."
He's not dumb; he knows these things only last so long. Forced retirement is something to be celebrated - celebrated that he lived long enough to have one, celebrated that his body isn't rotting in some foreign country, a home for worms. Celebrated that the 141 made it out mostly intact. Mostly together.
Johnny claps him on the back and promises that when Laswell brings him that paper when Johnny gets his own forced retirement, he'll come to find Simon.
Simon doesn't stay in England - he doesn't like the way the gray settles around him. He leaves the apartment Laswell set up for him untouched, a note for Johnny for where to find him.
He finds a small house to rent somewhere in the American Southwest, spitting distance of Alejandro's territory. It crosses his mind more than once to make the trip across the border, to see how Alejandro's doing; to see if Rudy is still scared of fantasmas .
But he isn't a fantasma anymore; he's just Simon Riley.
And it's just Simon Riley who paces the aisles of her bookstore, trying to find something to take his mind off of the fact that he is utterly and completely bored.
"This is the third time you've been here this month. I'm not putting you into debt am I?"
Her accent is different from everyone else's in town - still decidedly American, just not from here American. Simon ignores her, his eyes focused on the row of books in front of him. She sighs heavily, but drops it, leaving him behind to stock the end cap. Last week's murder mysteries replaced by this week's contemporary romances.
"I need to lock up you know - I can't stay here all night." She speaks as if it's not odd that Simon only comes in on Thursday nights - the only night of the week she stays open late to rearrange the end cap displays, to vacuum the floors to perfection.
"You haven't even cleaned the windows yet," Simon replies, pulling a fantasy book from the shelf: something about a world full of malicious fairies and a secret world beneath New York. It's something new.
"For your information, I did that before you got here," she says, pushing herself up from the floor with a groan. "And I have a life. I can't sit here all night and wait for you to pick a random book off the shelf."
"I never said you didn't."
Simon places the book as she dips behind the counter, a lukewarm cup of coffee left beside the cash register. She drinks from it, wincing at the taste as she rings the book up.
"That'll be seventeen forty-five."
Simon gives her a twenty and she breaks the change, counting out how many pennies he's supposed to have on her fingers.
"You going to be back next week?"
"Why?"
"I want to close early next Thursday; I need to know if my best customer is going to be here or not."
Simon doesn't speak as he takes the plastic bag from her hands. She waits for him, eyes never leaving his as she sips her coffee, waiting on him to answer.
"I can come by Friday instead."
"I'm closed Fridays."
"What about Wednesday?"
"I can stay late Wednesday."
He leaves her with just a crinkle of the plastic bag and the chime above the door.
***
He spends too much time at the gym ignoring Johnny's text messages. Johnny tells him Price was next - swearing that he was going to retire to the countryside where he can smoke his cigars in peace. Maybe find himself a nice girl to cook him dinner every now and then.
His fingers hover over the buttons, almost messaging Price to tell him congratulations. But Simon's not sure it really is.
He's alone at night; no one's in the gym at two in the morning. No one's there to watch the way he slams the weights down when he's done or hear the way he gasps for breath after lifting too heavy - the tear in his chest that never quite healed right burning him from the inside.
The walk home is quick; the stars shine brighter than anything he'd ever seen in England. The closest he ever got to seeing them like this was in the Middle East, but he hardly noticed the stars then. He wasn't expecting to be left looking up.
He sits in the shower at home. He can't stand the way the water hits his skin, but can't stand the idea of sitting in the water either. So he stays huddled in the corner of the bathtub, the water barely touching him.
Simon Riley thinks about death.
He thinks about what would happen if he died right now.
He thinks about what it's like to die twice.
***
The door is locked when he comes by Wednesday; he feels foolish standing there with his hand still pulling on the door, knowing it won't open beneath his touch. Foolish to think that she would-
Foolish when his heart ticks a beat as she comes around the corner. Foolish when he steps inside just a second after she unlocks the door.
"Sorry, my last employee must have locked the door on their way out. So did you like last week's book?"
"It was alright."
The silence is almost awkward as she locks the door behind him.
"Let me know when you're ready. I just made coffee in that pot behind the counter; you can have some if you want. I shouldn't drink it all myself."
She leaves him behind to disappear into the store room. He paces the aisles aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out at him. It's quiet tonight; the music that's usually playing softly over the speakers is absent. Simon can hear her through the storeroom wall moving boxes around, the sound of a box cutter piercing the quiet every so often.
She reappears, a box in her arms that she drops heavily onto the counter. Simon watches her over the bookshelf of non-fiction works as she pulls each book out, scans it into the computer, and stacks them on the counter
When the box is empty, she breaks it down and leaves it on the counter. She looks up, almost catching Simon staring at her. He ducks away, taking a book on the Korean War with him. At the counter, she can barely see him over the stack of books in front of her.
"Last week was fantasy and this week is the Korean War? You certainly have varied tastes."
Simon hands over the fifteen twenty-two he owes her, her hands linger in the distance between them.
"Do you have a job?"
"What?"
Simon's taken aback at her candor. I used to have a job he thinks, as he pockets his change.
"No, I don't."
"Do you want one? I need a weekend worker. It's just me on Saturdays and Sundays now my other guy quit to go to college. I can't pay you a ton, but I kind of get the feeling you don't need it."
He falters for a moment; that's all it takes. If he's being honest with himself, he misses taking orders, missing feeling useful to someone.
"I can do that."
"Can you start this Saturday?"
"I can do that."
She's locked the door behind him before he realizes they don't even know each other's names.
***
Her name's Billy.
"What's your name; I probably should have asked that before I hired you."
Simon doesn't answer, placing the box down slowly before he answers. It's odd, telling someone his name. His real name.
"It's Simon. Simon Riley."
She looks him over, elbows resting on the counter.
"What?"' He asks, uncomfortable under her x-ray analysis of him.
"Just didn't peg you for a Simon. You know with your general countenance; the mask and all that."
She doesn't ask why he has the mask on. Simon gets the feeling that she never will.
She works him like a dog; he's moving some of the shelves around when he thinks that this is probably the reason her last employee quit. It's like being ordered around by Price again, but this time his enemy is the dust. He doesn't stop moving until well after noon; sweat gathering in the small of his back. In her office, Billy is on the phone, yelling indistinctly at the person on the other line.
He doesn't have to watch her to know she's angry when she slams the phone down. He expects her to storm out of her office, to slam the door shut behind her. But she doesn't. When she comes out she's calm.
On Sunday she shows him how the books are organized, and she has him switch around the genres.
"Romance sells best during the spring, and mystery best in the fall and winter. So we need to pull the mystery books up to this front aisle and move the romance towards the back. These shelves roll so they're easier to move."
She's meticulous; Simon moves the same shelf four times before it's lined up exactly where she wants it. His constellation prize: cash wages handed to him at the end of the day.
"No paycheck?"
Her nails tap against the counter, the white paint chipped.
"I haven't processed your paperwork yet. I can take the money back if you want."
Simon pockets it.
They lock up together. It's warm outside, but she still tugs a hoodie over herself whenever she finishes, tucking her keys into the pocket.
It's a complete coincidence that they set off in the same direction.
Simon wants a cigarette; his fingers itch for the pack in his pocket. But she'd said earlier in the day that the smell was disgusting and she couldn't breathe whenever someone with cigarette smoke on them passed her by.
They split up two blocks away from the bookstore. She motions up to the upstairs apartment of a shitty duplex. It's not the kind of place he expected her to be in.
"This is me. I'll see you next Saturday right?"
"I'll be there."
"Good night Simon."
She doesn't wait for him to say anything; not that he would have known what to say. She's up the stairs and inside (she didn't unlock the door; he has to restrain himself from going upstairs to tell her to lock it next time) before he can think of anything to say.
He smokes a cigarette at the bottom of her stairs; watches the outline of her against the curtains in her window. A fat black cat peers down at him, peers down at the cherry of Simon's cigarette in the darkness. The street lamp is burnt out, the shadows dark. He stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot and throws the cigarette butt out in the street.
He's almost certain she'd chide him for that - the same way she did a kid who had the audacity to throw a cigarette down in front of her shop.
His apartment is extra cold when he gets home.
***
"Maybe Price has it right: a life in the countryside. A pretty girl to cook you a few meals. Maybe a dog to curl up at your feet," Johnny drones on the other end of the line. Simon doesn't answer, his focus on cutting the potatoes in front of him into meticulous cubes. Johnny doesn't need him to speak.
"What about you L.T.? What have you been up to?"
"I'm not a lieutenant anymore Johnny."
"You'll always be L.T. to me. And don't ignore the question."
Simon drops the potatoes into a pot, waiting on the answer to unstick from the back of his throat.
"Not much. I go to the gym a lot."
He doesn't tell Johnny how he has to break his gun down and put it back together three times each night before he can sleep.
"That it?"
"I'm working at a bookstore."
"A bookstore! A few months out and you're domesticated."
"Watch it, Johnny."
A pause.
"I have to go L.T.. Gaz is yelling at me."
Their goodbye is the silence that follows.
***
Billy's arguing with a customer when he arrives Saturday morning.
"Listen, dude, I don't care what price you want to pay. This is my business and I set the prices. If you don't like it, you're not being forced to come here."
The customer drops it when Simon steps behind the counter.
"I hate that guy," Billy tells him as she hands him a box cutter. "He comes in every week and tries to get me to lower my prices. It's a bookstore; I'm not getting rich off of this. I can't afford that. Anyway-"
She sweeps her hair behind her shoulders. Simon catches a hint of a tattoo behind her right ear and a glint of cold chain disappearing beneath her shirt.
"Finals are coming up for the local community college so I had two different study groups book the tables in here today. They're usually pretty good, we just have to make sure to keep the coffee pot refilled for them because they'll drink it dry. It's $5 if they want coffee - per person don't let them try to swindle us - but they can refill it as much as they want."
Her fingers tap against the counter. Her nails are blue this week.
"If they ask about selling us their textbooks, tell them to come back next week. I have a shipment of children's books coming in - you can sign for it if I'm busy. Do I need to show you how to use the cash register or can you figure it out?"
"I can figure it out."
"Ok. The code is 4532. For now, do you mind breaking down the boxes in the back room and taking them to the dumpster? It's hard for me to reach to open up the dumpster lid."
She doesn't wait for him to answer before she disappears into the back room.
This Saturday is busy.
Simon's about to snap at a kid who won't shut up about how the comic section is too small when Billy appears beside him.
"I'll take over here Simon. There's lunch in the back room."
He's thankful for her in that moment.
He's more thankful when the storeroom shuts behind him and locks. The table has a small bag with his name written on it. A sandwich from the deli across the street and a bottle of water inside.
There are no tomatoes on the sandwich.
Just like he always orders it.
***
He smokes a cigarette again outside her apartment. But this time he tucks the butt back into the pack. He'll throw it away at home.
***
"I want to put a coffee shop in here," Billy tells him when the store is slow. She traces the right side of the store with her fingers.
"And I want to open the shop up earlier and stay open later."
"Why don't you?" Simon asks without looking up from his task of the day: putting 'half-priced' stickers on books that aren't selling well.
"I'm not making enough money. I have just enough to pay you and my weekday employee and the overhead cost of this place, plus pay myself. There's not any extra coming in. The bank-," she pauses, red nails scraping at a piece of tape on the counter, "the bank is willing to give me a loan on the coffee shop stuff - the machines and all that - but I don't have the money for the renovations. My contractor told me he'd have to build the cabinets, open up the drywall and put an extension on our water pipe. A water filter needs to be installed. It's just - it's just a lot."
She slides the stack of books he's already put stickers on off of the counter and into her arms.
"Maybe next year."
***
The next time Johnny calls, Simon can hear the strain in his voice.
"It's my turn L.T.. Laswell said I failed the psychological and I can't stay."
"You going to keep good on your promise to come to be my annoying neighbor Johnny."
"Not yet. I want to go home to my mom for a little bit. Maybe next year L.T.."
"Next year's going to be a big year I guess," Simon says more to himself.
"What's that L.T.?"
"Nothing Johnny. We should be happy we made it out."
Simon knows Johnny's not happy: not happy he never received the rank he wanted, not happy he has to go back home and take care of his mom again.
"You're right L.T.. I'll call you again when I'm home. How's the bookstore thing?"
"It's going alright. Bye, Johnny."
"Bye."
In the silence after the call, Simon thinks he should get a cat. Something to make the apartment less quiet; something to give him purpose when he's there.
Something that won't crawl all over him at the end of the day.
***
He needs something to do with his hands.
That's what he tells Billy when she arrives at the store on Saturday morning and Simon's ripping up a portion of the carpet, a stack of flooring waiting to be installed.
"So you have to do it when I'll have customers here?"
"Tell them it's a new addition; they'll be alright."
"I'm not paying you extra for this."
"I didn't ask you to."
Billy looks at him, one foot tapping a sharp staccato muffled by the carpet.
"Fine."
She pauses for a moment, Simon's knife running down the carpet to separate it from the floor beneath. She picks up one of the pieces of flooring, turning it over in her hand.
"What is this?"
"It's vinyl. It's waterproof in case you spill something."
Billy drops the plank back onto the stack and leaves to unlock the front door.
Simon revels in the way his shoulders burn at the work, the way the rough concrete scratches his knuckles once everything is pulled off the floor and he has to start laying down the underflooring. He revels in the way his back cramps as he's bent over.
In the way he feels useful.
It takes him all day to get half the flooring down.
Billy doesn't speak to him about it, doesn't ask where he got the money from, or why he's suddenly doing free renovations on the place.
Simon knows she appreciates it by the way she drops down his lunch - no tomatoes, just a water to drink- beside him without expecting a thank you. By the way, she chides the little kids who come over to ask him a million and one questions, he doesn't know how to answer and brushes them away from him.
She catches him smoking in the back alley on his break. She's polite enough to turn back when she realizes he has his mask down and keeps her back turned to him.
"That shit's going to kill you."
"It can only hope."
Simon can tell she's giving him a withering look at him from her position half inside the doorway.
"If you come in smelling like that cancerous poison I'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day."
He must smell because she doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day, not even saying goodbye when they depart at her apartment.
Simon hides the cigarettes in a drawer when he gets home.
***
It's Price that reaches out to him first, a quick phone call, a holdover from their days in the field.
"Are you holding up?"
Not "how are you holding up?", but "are you holding up?" The difference between three letters is so vast Simon doesn't know how to cross it.
"I'm doing fine."
"Johnny told me you've got a job?"
"Just something to keep me occupied."
"Is that all you've got?"
"What more do I need?"
The receiver is filled with the sound of Price inhaling a cigar; Simon can almost smell him through the receiver.
"You're not Ghost anymore Simon. It takes more than that to survive this."
Survive this . As if this is the most dangerous mission Simon's ever been on as if being forcibly retired has some sort of great mortality rate.
"Understood."
He listens to Price's dial tone for five minutes before he hangs up.
Maybe it does.
***
He paces the town at night. Once the gym doesn't become enough to wear him out, doesn't help his brain relax, he walks the streets.
He thinks more than once that someone is going to call the cops on him and report him for being suspicious.
But Simon Riley isn't Ghost anymore. Simon Riley is someone not worth noticing.
It's almost surprising how well the little town sleeps with the remnants of Ghost stalking through it; how now one seems to have any idea of what he was once - and still is - capable of.
He steals a lot of time sitting on people's steps, on the stoops of little houses, picking the petals off of the flowers in big pots, and lining up the shoes and toys that were left disarrayed in the chaos of the daytime. He wonders if someone is going to catch him on their security camera and name him the town freak, but no one does.
He keeps up at it enough that he can feel the shift in the air, feel winter creeping in. He notices it in the way more and more boots are left outside, by the plants with plastic coverings over them, protecting them.
He finds himself, more often than not, taking the long way around to stop at the bottom stairs of Billy's apartment. Most nights the lights are off, and the window open. He wants to tell her to stop doing that, to lock the window, but he doesn't know how to say it without giving away his nights. So instead he keeps watch, hands buried in his pockets as he counts the moths in the streetlights.
Sometimes though the lights are on and he can hear the sound of her house through the open window. Sometimes the cat peers down at him as if prepared to leap through the window screen at him - sometimes she grabs the cat, never looking down at Simon; more often than not the cat curls up in the windowsill without budging.
A few times he could hear her talking to someone, the conversation muffled from above. He wondered about who she could be talking to so late at night. Why she was up in the middle of the night to talk to someone?
He makes his way home as the town starts to wake up.
***
He moves once - to a tiny house in the middle of town, just enough to have a yard big enough to cross in two strides.
He tells Johnny it's because he was tired of the noises of the neighbors.
He tells Johnny it's because he's taken up woodworking and needs a spot for the tools.
"What are you building you old bastard?"
"Some cabinets."
"For what?"
"Mind your own business, Johnny."
It takes weeks to get them perfect. Eventually, though, they're good enough to put in the back of a rented truck.
He does it on a Friday when no one is around. He tells himself that it's easier that way, no one walking underfoot.
That night he lets himself admit - just for a moment as he sits on the shower floor - that he didn't want to see her face if she's disappointed by it.
***
She refuses to open the door for him the next day, opting to yell at him through the glass instead.
"You cannot keep making renovations to my store without asking me!"
"It's no big deal; open the door."
"No big deal: you put a floor down, you handbuild cabinets, and you broke into my store to install them!"
"You gave me a key."
"Not for that!"
It's a stalemate: Simon poised with his hand on the door handle, her hands tucked into the pocket of her jacket.
"I still have to do the plumbing."
She massages her eyes before leaning forward to turn the lock. Simon steps inside with the biting wind.
"You're fucking irritating, Simon Riley."
I know .
She makes him put up the Christmas tree - a fucking monstrosity that takes up the entire front window. It takes him all day to get the decorations to her standard; her yelling through the store at him to move something incrementally to the left or right.
Billy leans on the counter, shuffling through official-looking papers and refusing to look at Simon when he's finished.
"Thanks to you," she says, never looking up at him, "I have to start getting the paperwork processed to be able to serve food and drinks here."
"Is it difficult?"
"It's not easy."
Their conversation pauses just long enough for her to check out a customer. She turns back to Simon as soon as the door shuts.
"Why are you doing all this Simon?"
He doesn't answer, and he realizes as he stands there, hands folded behind his back and spine rigid that he needs to tell her something, but all he notices is the black ink mark on her cheek. She doesn't pressure him to answer, but she doesn't let her eyes leave him.
Simon breaks first, eyes cast down to the floor.
"Ok," Billy whispers under her breath, "you don't have to answer, but just let me know when you're going to do something else. Can you text me next time before you start?"
"I don't have your number."
She doesn't ask for his phone, instead, she tears a corner of a piece of paper off and scribbles her number on it. Her hands don't shake when she holds the paper out to Simon, but his shake when he takes it. Simon can tell Billy notices. He stuffs the paper into his pocket, pushing it past his keys and his phone.
"Hey, Simon," Billy chews on her lip.
"What?"
"Are you busy tomorrow night?"
***
Johnny's chatting his ear off, Simon's barely paying attention to him as he stares at the shirts thrown out on his bed.
"- L.T.? Simon?"
"What? Johnny, what?"
"Are you even listening?"
"No, Johnny. I'm not."
The static of Johnny's disapproval.
"What could be distracting you from my wonderful conversation?"
"I'm busy Johnny."
"With what?"
"Nothing Johnny. I just have somewhere to be later - I'm trying to get ready for dinner."
"Dinner? Like with someone else?"
Simon hangs up on him.
***
Simon wants to pretend that he doesn't have the path to her house memorized; doesn't have each step calculated to know when exactly to stand on the bottom step at 6:59 so that he can knock on her door right at 7. But he does, so he hovers on the bottom step for an extra minute.
She doesn't answer when he knocks; she yells through the door for him to come in. In his pocket his phone buzzes every few seconds, Johnny sends another message insisting that Simon tell him who he's eating dinner with. Simon thinks for a moment about blocking his number for the night.
Billy smiles at him from behind the counter, elbow-deep in bread dough. All at once, Simon feels overdressed taking in the large shirt covered in flour Billy's wearing.
"Hey. Sorry, dinner's going to be like 30 minutes later than I said. I couldn't get this shit to rise properly for like an hour."
"It's alright."
Billy must sense his apprehension because she jerks her head at a chair pulled up to the counter.
"Come sit down."
Simon appreciates the order. Billy rolls the dough out on the counter, measuring the thickness with her knuckle with a precision Simon would expect out of her. He has to keep himself from staring at her; instead, he analyzes the rest of the apartment.
He can see everything but the bedroom from his one spot; that door is firmly shut. It's clean but the type of clean houses have whenever someone new is coming over and everything is thrown into a closet. After a few minutes, Simon thinks he needs to speak.
"What are you making?"
"Rolls. I made - uh - what is the fancy word for it - beef bourgine?"
"Beef bourguignon?"
Billy smiles down at the dough as she cuts squares out.
"I'm glad one of us can say it - I can cook, I just can't speak French."
"Do you always cook like this?"
"Only on special occasions."
Special occasions .
It's awkward at first for Simon to sit there while she moves about the kitchen, putting the rolls in the oven and cleaning the counter; Billy doesn't speak much and Simon knows she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence either.
His phone buzzes again - under the counter he checks it.
Johnny:
don't leave me hanging lt tell me whos it is
"Your girlfriend?" Billy teases without turning to look at Simon from the other side of the kitchen.
"Not exactly," Simon says, muting the phone and shoving it back in his pocket.
"Do you have one?" Her voice is prying, but she doesn't look at Simon as she pulls bowls down from the cabinet.
"A girlfriend?"
"Yeah."
It bubbles inside him - just once - the urge to tell her about himself . He swallows it down.
"No."
"Not even back home?"
"Back home?"
She grins at him slyly, setting two glasses of water down in front of the two of them.
"Why do you think I have to keep paying you in cash? Your um….paperwork didn't exactly list you as being an employable American. And you have - you know - an accent."
Simon doesn't realize he's leaning toward her until his elbows hit the counter.
"No, not back home."
She seems satisfied by that answer - or she doesn't have time to ask anything else. Behind her the oven timer beeps and she turns to pull the rolls out. They're barely out of the oven whenever she ladles the stew into the bowls and pulls two rolls off one for each of them.
Pushing the bowl towards Simon she opens her mouth - Simon thinks she's going to ask something else but she just shakes her head.
"I'm going to eat over there, so you can eat too," she says passing him a fork.
"No cameras?"
"None you can see."
She retreats to the other side of the room and drops down on the couch so that she's facing away from him. Muffled behind a door to the right, Simon can hear her cat meow once.
They eat in silence; Simon knows she's only eating slowly to give him time to finish without her accidentally turning to see his face. He doesn't need it: he realizes he hasn't had a meal that hasn't consisted of a sandwich or some form of potatoes in weeks; he eats fast, slowing down just as he finishes to keep from embarrassing himself.
He sets the bowl down with enough dramatics that she can tell he's done without having to turn around. It's quiet again when she comes into the kitchen and takes his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. The sound of the water makes his skin crawl; it clashes with the domestic feeling of being taken care of.
She laughs quietly to herself as she dries her hands on her shirt, lifting it up just enough to expose the little shorts she has on underneath.
"Something funny?"
"Not really funny," she says, hands stilling in her shirt, "I don't know - it just - I - well it's about this time of dinner that guys usually try to take me to the bedroom. I was just thinking about how different this night would be with anyone else."
With anyone else .
That bothers him some.
"I don't suppose that's what you came here for," she grins at him as she speaks, resting her elbows on the counter. "Besides we don't even know each other."
"We work with each other every weekend," Simon retorts, not sure why he feels the need to prove her wrong.
"And we barely speak the entire time."
She points at him, her bright yellow nails glinting in the light.
"I've never seen you in anything other than long sleeves, even on the hottest day. You could have like fucking tentacles under there and I wouldn't know. And you don't even know anything about me."
For once, Simon doesn't think - he does.
He pushes his sleeves up slowly, each one nearly to his elbow. Billy leans forward, just enough to see the tattoo ink and scars that mar his forearms. Her fingers twitch against the countertop like she wants to reach out and touch him, but they stay still.
"Do you - do you only have tattoos on your arms?"
Simon reaches up to hook one finger in his collar and pulls it down just a half inch - just enough to show her the ink there.
"Your turn," Simon says, dropping his hand down. Under the counter, it lies fisted on his thigh.
"My turn?" Billy asks eyebrow cocked at him.
"Do you have any tattoos?"
She licks her lips once; Simon can see her thinking. After a pause she reaches down to grab the edge of her shirt - Simon's heart clenches. She lifts the hem up, just enough to show him the edge of a tattoo on her side, disappearing beneath her shorts and rising above where she lifted. She laughs a little as she drops the shirt.
"Is that all we need to know about each other?"
"It's a start."
***
He finally tells her he was in the military four Sundays after the first one. She'd told him at work she was too tired to cook and apologized, promising to make it up to him. So when he showed up at her door with a pizza and a promise that he was just dropping it off on his way home, he was surprised when she asked him to come in.
Each week they coaxed something new out of each other: a snippet about their families, about their travels. He loves Kentucky; she's from the East Coast. Her father died young. He's from England.
She's curled up in the recliner the cat on her stomach - they're watching something on television but they're both not really paying attention to it. So he blurts it out - a new confession in this weekly therapy.
"I was in the military."
"I guessed. The British Armed Forces?"
"The SAS."
She frowns and Simon stiffens.
"Is that like a unit or something?"
"Yeah."
This time she grins.
"Is that why you always lock my door behind you when you come in?"
"No. I do it because you never know who could come in when you're alone."
"You mean when you're not here."
Yes.
"No."
She rolls over, clutching the cat to her chest so as to not dump him on the floor until her feet hang over the arm and she can eyeball Simon across the room.
"I can shoot straight."
"Can you?"
***
She can. She takes him through the desert on Friday afternoon, bundled up against the cold. Out where they can target practice without anyone bothering them.
She hits every target.
***
"Christmas is this weekend."
"Yeah."
"So you know we're closed right? I'm not paying you time and a half."
A pause longer than he's used to.
"Are you doing anything for Christmas?"
"No."
"Do you want to come over?"
***
She makes Chinese on Christmas. A tradition she says because when she was younger the only places open were Chinese restaurants and her dad couldn't cook. They didn't have real dinners until she learned to cook herself, but it was always Chinese on Christmas.
The cat has a bell around its neck for the holiday and it latches onto Simon for the night. She wrinkles her nose at the cat and calls him a traitor. The cat doesn't seem to care.
"I didn't get you a present," she says, putting her bowl on the coffee table. From his spot in the kitchen, Simon speaks.
"I didn't get you one either."
"Well, you're slowly building me an entire coffee shop."
"That's not present."
"Well, it's not exactly in your job description either."
He leaves his half-eaten bowl on the counter to drop down on the couch. She's sideways in the armchair, shirt riding up and a bruise on her shin. She's back to white nails.
"I can make out with you for Christmas; other guys have liked that present."
Simon's heart nearly stops.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm just kidding Si."
Just kidding .
***
She begs and pleads with him to please go out to the bar with her for the new year. He doesn't have to drink, she says, she can drink enough for the both of them.
She does. She doesn't even make it until eleven.
He carries her home on his back. Her door is unlocked and wants to think about how dangerous that is, but all he can think about is her warm breath on his neck.
He drops her unceremoniously onto the couch - he thinks about carrying her to the bedroom, but that's one place the door has always been shut to.
He does take her shoes off of her while she insists she can do that herself. He slips the right one off when the fireworks go off outside; the entire town is bathed in their light.
"Midnight," she says as Simon rises up on one knee in front of her, ready to tell her goodbye and good night.
She kisses him over the mask.
She doesn't mention it the next day.
***
By summer, Simon has the entire cafe portion of the store finished. He's embarrassed when she hangs a sign over the area: 'Simon's Spot'.
"What?" She asks, peering down at him from the top of the ladder. "You built it."
***
He breaks during the summer. Billy calls him on a Tuesday, asking if he knows anything about air conditioning systems.
"You built the cafe, so I know you're handy."
He doesn't. But he can figure it out.
After hours the bookstore is sweltering. Billy has the blinds pulled down in a futile attempt to keep out some of the heat and the setting sun. Her shirt, already cropped short, clings to her with sweat when she unlocks the front door for Simon.
It takes him two hours but he figures it out. When it kicks on she looks up at him, one arm resting on his shoulder, and tells him he's her hero.
He makes it all the way to her apartment - the promise of something for dinner and a cold drink as for payment the ruse - before he does it.
It's dark inside, dark enough that when he locks the door behind him, he slips his mask off. She turns to ask him something - he doesn't hear it; he's too busy kissing her, pushing her back against the kitchen cabinet.
It's messy - the kissing - he can't remember the last time he kissed somebody like this - all teeth and tongue and need.
When they stumble into her room, he doesn't take his shirt off, and she doesn't ask why.
***
"Come visit me L.T.. Scotlands beautiful this time of year."
"I'll have to book two tickets Johnny; that's not cheap."
a/n: i spent hours in the bathtub trying to picture this in my head. anyway, thank you to everyone who commented. you guys are great.
pairing: ghost x medic!reader (hazy)
tags: semi-romantic, religious symbolism and imagery, dying, gunshot wound, blood, lots of cursing, lots of switching between character pov, obvious ptsd
2.4k words
part one
Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars. - Dante Alighieri, Inferno
Rifle between your shoulder blades, you hit the deck; an alchemist sentenced to the tenth bolgia. A mystic who made false promises to keep a man alive when he's bleeding out before you.
Men. Not man.
"Wha' the fuck are ya?"
Blood seeps in between the fabric of your shirt - Achilleus in the dirt descending to the second circle. It takes a few moments before you realize the guy screaming at you isn't speaking another language - he's just Scottish.
Scottish.
Not American.
His rifle digs into your shoulder painfully.
"Soap!"
A second pair of boots enters your vision, you keep your eyes trained on the doorway. The ambulance scream grows fainter in the distance. They're arguing above you, but you're too busy thinking about the rifle cutting into your back to care.
Zip ties around your wrist and you're hauled to your feet. The neighbors stare through the blinds, unwavering as they watch you get shoved into the back of a black SUV. The man who shoved the rifle in your back takes a shotgun. The youngest who listened to you about the towel takes the seat to your left.
They don't put a bag over your face as you speed away.
Fuck.
***
This must be his punishment for his sins - the screaming and blinding lights. Whatever is above him - they aren't angels. His mom used to say that those who repent go to paradise. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. The verse comes back so clearly to him now - Sundays in the pew, hours spent away from home. Baseless hope that things would change. Would get better. Will get better.
Hands tear him apart; his atoms smashing together. A nuclear reaction waiting to implode. A stifled scream around the torture in his throat.
There are no halos above him now.
Hazy. Her name was Hazy.
***
They leave you in a cold room to let the blood set sticky on you. It takes hours, but a woman walks in - a crisp white shirt mocking you across the table. She slides a file across the table at you - you don't need to look at it to know it's yours. Your name rolls off her tongue, nearly foreign in her clipped speech.
"Call sign Hazy. You did two tours as an Air Force Combat Pararescue member. One of them with the SEALs in a classified mission in the Middle East. Then you quit."
"I did."
"What did you do after that?"
"ER nurse."
"Not anymore?"
No.
No. You couldn't keep doing the death and destruction. Breathing wounds on a Tuesday night. Bodies smashed against the asphalt. Grown men begging for their moms. God's divine punishment on his will-less puppets for a long-forgotten transgression.
"How did you manage to get one of my operates on your table?"
"Kismet."
Maybe God smiles down sometimes.
***
Simon floats between here and there.
Angels in white veils, bloodstained hands lifting him from the ground to smash him back down moments later. His father stumbling into the kitchen, the ground yawning beneath him to swallow him. His mom shaking hands with the preacher, the same hands that refuse to defend themselves later.
Johnny in Mexico, Gaz hanging from a helicopter. Price reaching out to pull Laswell up. Angels reaching down to sift through them - divine judgment.
Our hands get dirty.
Words break through - voices he recognizes cutting through the veil.
-not a coma.
Johnny telling Simon's jokes to someone.
Always a fucking joke thief.
Warm hands poking and prodding him. Cold air on the tip of his nose.
The outline of an angel above him - golden halo shining when she reaches down to pull him close to her; away from the hell he's been swimming in.
Hazy.
***
"Why'd they call you Hazy?
"Maybe you should ask my former CO."
"We did. He gave a glowing recommendation. Said you never failed to give it your all to save a man."
Your all.
Tell that to the boys you left behind to rot. To the blood drying on the grout in your kitchen. You're sure they would have something else to say.
Her name's Laswell - CIA. The CIA never did you any favors before, but you ask for one now.
"Can I take a shower?"
She lets you. They're holding you in a hotel, no doubt blacked out on any internet searches, and really just a cover for the government to hide people whenever they want. But the water runs warm and red as you sit on the floor to wash your hair. You're escorted there by Gaz - the man who handed you a towel for Ghost. The only one who doesn't eye you in distrust.
You know he's stationed outside the door in case you do anything stupid. They don't trust you - in their eyes, you're an enemy who lured Ghost into your house to torture him for information.
A Judas Iscariot ready to be flung into the maw of Satan.
You wonder what hospital they took Ghost to.
***
Johnny's voice - a thousand Hail Marys.
Ave maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.
The words sound ridiculous in Johnny's accent. Simon tries to make a note to tell him so.
Simon's angel doesn't leave his dreams. She holds his hand, skin so soft against his calloused ones he feels like he'll break her if he holds too hard. She brushes his hair away from his forehead, fingers lingering on the scars left behind. Simon tries to speak to her, but she doesn't speak back - just rests her hands at the base of his neck. A tenderness he hasn't felt in years.
"Why are you here?"
He begs for an answer that doesn't come.
Wake up.
He's dragged away from her.
***
His buddy, Soap, apologizes at the hospital.
"I didnae know you were a soldier."
Not a soldier. But you don't correct him.
He takes you to see Ghost. Locked ward, two guards outside the door. A quick pat down across the clothes that aren't yours - a pair of shoes that are slightly too big.
His skull mask has been switched out for a plain surgical mask. It makes him look smaller, somehow.
"He hasn't woken up for the past three days," Soap says, trying to hide the rosaries in his pocket.
"His body is trying to heal - his brain is slowing down metabolic function to prioritize healing." The words roll so smoothly from your tongue - the same words you used to tell families when their babies and husbands and daughters wouldn't wake up.
They were lies 90% of the time.
Maybe this is the 10%.
His hair is still crusted with blood. You have the nurse bring you rags and a basin. Under Soap's watchful eyes, you wash Ghost's hair, his hands, his feet free of the blood crusted there.
They let you go home to scrub the blood off of the floors and table, staining your knees and fingers red. You pretend not to notice Ghost's captain following you at a distance - pretend not to notice him standing across the street when you empty the mop water beside your steps. You do your best to puzzle-piece your door back together until you can get a new one.
Your phone lights up: a text from your old captain - asking why the CIA was blowing his phone up. You leave him on read.
When you sleep that night, you dream of the way Ghost grabbed your wrist.
***
His angel brings him back from the nightmares. Above them the heavens yawn - a thousand constellations. They lay on the backs in the wet grass and Ghost describes each one of them to her - how to use them to get home when you're in trouble.
He doesn't let go of her hand.
"Are you here to save me?" He asks, but she doesn't answer. "Do I deserve it?"
Fingers intertwined. A gentle squeeze. She glows brighter when he says her name.
"Please speak."
She traces the scars on his face and leaves him in silence.
***
Ghost's hands are rough beneath yours. Your mother taught you a prayer to use when you were little, but you can't get the words out of your mouth.
"Why's he so important to you?" Soap asks from across the room, refusing to make eye contact with you.
"I spent a long time stitching men back together; I want to see one make it through."
Soap fingers the beads on his rosary.
Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum.
You trace the scars on Ghost's fingers - a prayer in flesh. You only speak to God when have something to ask.
He rarely answers.
***
His angel waits for him - he sees her in the distance, golden-arrayed. She smiles at him - halo glowing brighter. She looks so happy to see him- there's a knife in his side.
Wake up, Ghost.
She diminishes on the horizon. A phantom in the sunset.
Come back.
Please Ghost.
A step away from him. A cracked link.
Come back.
Come back.
"Co-"
***
The hospital room explodes into bedlam. A doctor slams into you, pushing you out of the way. You let yourself fall into the wall; across the room, Soap stands bewildered, fingers running through his mohawk - hair standing on end.
Ghost fights them, reaching across to yank the IVs out of his arm. You watch the blood pour from his hands - stigmata in reverse. Across the room, Soap tries to take a step towards the chaos - you stop him with a small shake of your head.
Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio.
***
He's lost - fighting against the hands that attempt to hold him down. It's hell around him, fingers wrapped around his arms and legs trying to force him down. He wraps his hands around the IV in his arm - barely aware that they're there to help him. His veins burn.
He's forced to the bed - the voices above him a dissonance that means nothing to him. His heart is slamming into his chest, fingers digging into the mattress when he sees her.
Hazy.
His angel in the corner of the room.
Simon is pinned to the bed with the weight of her eyes.
He must still be dead.
In his moment of weakness, he's is slammed back into the bed.
***
You watch as the nurses pin Ghost down to the bed, the doctor trying to break through to him. Soap pushes through them and grabs Ghost by the shoulder; Ghost jerks, and then looks at Soap. His eyes soften just slightly and his whole body relaxes beneath Soap's hand.
You duck out of the room - heart slamming against the inside of your chest.
You can't breath; fuck, he's alright.
Fuck.
You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to stem the pictures flashing through your mind: screaming and sand; Ghost's blood dripping from your fingertips; covering bodies with your own to block them from shrapnel; the sound of Black Hawks overhead; Ghost looking up at you, bleeding out on your kitchen table.
Fuck.
Fuck.
***
Johnny is talking faster than Simon can understand. The pain in his side nearly pulls him back under - he doesn't struggle when they put the IV back in.
He cuts off Johnny mid sentence.
"Hazy -"
Johnny looks at him confused, eyes flashing to the door.
"She's outside; L.T. what happened the other night?
Simon tries to push himself up - he needs to track her down. To feel that she's real; to hear her speak again. The sight of her standing over him, golden halo'd won't leave his mind. His hands ache for the feeling of hers.
"Johnny move."
"L.T. - you're fucking delusional. What happened to you?"
Simon grips the blanket with white knuckles, and thinks about the way Hazy traced the scars. He was dead.
He was dead.
***
You hear Soap and Ghost speaking in the room; you're gripping your shirt and pressing it into your face - trying to pull yourself back to the present.
You saved him.
You saved him.
You're shaking when Soap approaches you, sliding down to the floor beside you.
"He says," his voice cracks, "he says that you're his angel. Keeps asking if you're real."
An angel.
Fuck.
You laugh, small and derisive.
"I think I might be the opposite of an angel."
Your voice is muffled by your shirt. You feel so fucking stupid for breaking down from the sight of Ghost - nobody but a stranger.
"I think you need to go see him."
***
Johnny leads her in, hand on her elbow. A flash of anger.
Take your fucking hands off of her.
Like he can read his mind, Johnny drops her elbow and turns around - letting the door to the room shut behind him. She stands at the doorway, hands held behind her back. She doesn't look at him - doesn't speak.
His stomach flips - his angel won't look at him.
"Are you real?"
The corner of her mouth lifts.
"Are you?"
He wants to beg her to come closer, to touch him, to trace the scars on his face. He wants to rip his mask off so that she can see him. But he keeps his hands pressed to the mattress.
"Why did you save me?"
She smooths an invisible wrinkle in her jeans.
"Just my instinct I guess."
"I thought you were an angel."
She crosses the room - slowly at first, but faster until she sits down in the chair Johnny had been in. She keeps her hands folded in her lap and her gaze pointed down.
"I probably made a shitty angel didn't I?"
"Hazy."
She looks up at the sound of her name. Ghost leans back; eyes screwed up against the fluorescent light.
"That's not your real name is it?" Ghost asks. Tell me your real one. Please.
"Is Ghost yours?"
"Not even close."
***
You leave him in the hospital - a quick good-bye and a promise that you'll come back to see him.
You don't go back.
You dream about Ghost every night; waking up gripping the sheets with the taste of blood in your mouth. The second coming of grief when you find his blood on the underside of your kitchen table.
***
Simon thinks he's stupid - she didn't come see him for a reason. She doesn't want to see him. It's been a year - she's probably forgotten him by now.
Fuck.
His feet carry him up the steps and he knocks before he can stop himself.
Simon Riley doesn't believe in angels.
But his opens the door.
***
tag list: @random-thot-generator, @stillinracooncity,
pairing: ghost x medic!reader (hazy)
tags: not really romantic, religious symbolism and imagery, dying, gunshot wound, blood, lots of cursing, lots of switching between character pov, obvious ptsd
Part 2
1.8k words
Exodus 23:20
Behold, I send an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared.
He's going to die in this alley. Simon lets his head fall back against the brick behind him. His comms are lighting up - Johnny screaming on the other end for backup, for an exfil, for Simon to fucking answer him. But Simon can't; he doesn't know how much blood a human body needs to lose before it stops functioning - (cut through the femoral artery, hit the ribs just right and it doesn't matter because they'll be dead before you can even think about the blood) but he knows he's getting close to it. It's ironic, he thinks, that this is where it happens: some quiet alley in some fucking city a thousand miles from home and not face down in the desert somewhere. A quiet death for a man who doesn't deserve it.
It would be poetic if he had the brain for poetry.
Simon Riley has never believed in angels. He's seen too much to believe in them. there's been too many he's been too late to save who needed an angel more than Simon ever will - the angels never appeared for them. There is no divine savior coming for him. Johnny isn't going to sweep in and take him to safety. No Price to shake him sober. No Gaz to be the eye in the sky. Simon wouldn't deserve it anyway.
"-are you ok?"
"-the fuck is that?"
"-grab under his shoulders we can-"
Two sets of small hands grab Simon. He tries to tell them to go away - Johnny'll be here any moment to get him, but he can't articulate the words. Above him, the stars spin in a dizzying array. His feet stumble beneath him; when his knees hit the ground it doesn't hurt. The hands grab at his vest and haul him up. The voices merge around him - he can't make out what they're saying through the ringing in his ears.
Sorry, Johnny; I won't be here when you come looking.
He can feel his boots catch on the concrete below him as he's being dragged - he tries to get his feet beneath him, but they won't listen. His toes are freezing, but the air against the exposed part of his face is warm.
Can you guys fucking slow down?
The sound of a fist on a door rips through his skull. Shut the fuck up.
Simon Riley doesn't believe in angels, but one opens the door.
***
He stumbles on your doorstep, barely held up between the two boys on either side of him. One of the boys you recognize from the neighborhood - you had stitched him up earlier this year after he cut himself in a skateboard accident. He looks at you and then at the giant of a man he's struggling to hold up. A tactical vest - a skeleton mask - a patch that you don't recognize. Maybe you do, but it's unrecognizable beneath the blood spatter and viscera.
"I think he needs your help."
It takes two seconds for your years of training to kick in. You can feel your shoulder screaming at you - an old injury that never healed quite right - as you help the two boys drag the guy across your small townhome, a bloody trail left in the wake of the hurricane.
He's fucking heavy and you wonder what a miracle it was that the two boys could even drag him any distance to you. You're not sure what miracle worked to get him onto the kitchen table.
"Leave," you tell the two boys, "go home and lock your doors and do not open them for anyone do you understand me?"
They understand you.
The man on your table is barely breathing.
***
She's on top of him - he wants to make a quip about it, but his brain isn't connecting enough with his mouth. Johnny would be able to think of it faster than him. He knows she's talking to him; he can see her mouth moving, but her words are a soft hum. He can't tell if she's beautiful, her halo is blinding him.
Take it off.
"-name. What is your name?"
A breakthrough. A crack in the static.
"Come on dude; you cannot fucking die on my kitchen table."
I'm already dead sweetheart, otherwise, you wouldn't be here.
She curses more than he thought angels would be able to. Maybe it's not in their by-laws to keep a clean mouth; that must be reserved for mortals.
She's rough as she pulls off his tactical vest, her hands sliding underneath his drenched t-shirt. I don't fuck on the first date, sweetheart.
Can angels fuck?
It seems like the kind of thing that would be forbidden.
Her hands are so fucking soft and warm; Simon didn't realize he was freezing until she touched him - her skin is like fire against him. Her hand traces up his bicep, to his neck. She grabs his shoulder; maybe he needs to roll over for her. That's stupid though because he can't. His shoulder lights on fire as her nails dig into the shoulder there. Stop that.
The kitchen ceiling above him comes into sharp focus until she fills his entire vision. Her halo is gone.
"What is your name?"
She's begging him to answer.
I like that.
His lips are like sandpaper; his tongue is glued to the top of his mouth. His lips form around the word, but he can't make himself say anything.
***
His eyes light up when you pinch his trapezius muscle; beneath his mask, you can see his face rearrange in a grimace.
That's good.
He's not dead yet.
Your medic bag is dusty beneath your bed, but everything inside of it is still good. His shirt is drenched in blood; you drag off the tactical vest the best that you can do after cutting the thick canvas on the side. The shirt cuts off easier, so blood-soaked that the blood drips onto your knee..
Through the blood you can't tell where he ends and the injury begins. You think as you press the Quikclot to the wound that you should have put on gloves - who knows what this guy could have. But you never had time for that out in the field either. What difference is this? It was one of the first things you learned as a medic. Every battlefield is the same, every victim is just another body beneath your hands.
Keep 'em breathing. Keep it moving.
You hold the gauze with one hand, the other trailing down his arm to his wrist to take his pulse. 120.
Fuck.
You hear your old captain in your ear, walking you through all the steps.
Feet up.
Blanket on top.
Pressure on the wound. Add a new bandage on top of the one if the one below becomes saturated in blood.
Pray.
Fuck.
Beneath your bare feet, the floor is slippery with blood.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
The comms on the guy's vest lets out a hazy sound of static and you reach for it, running off instinct and adrenaline. British voices explode on the other end - angry and searching.
"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. I've got one down and bleeding out - he's going into shock."
The words slip out of you and for a moment you're back to mortar shells and blood on the sand. Dust in your mouth. Screaming in your sleep with blood caked underneath your bitten-down nails.
"Who the fuck 'r you?"
You repeat yourself, hand slipping on the button from sweat and blood, yelling over the voices on the other side.
"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. I've got one down and bleeding out - he's going into shock."
A hand reaches up to wrap around your wrist. The guy on your table is looking at you, eyes alert but searching. When he speaks, it's barely a whisper.
"Ghost."
His hand shakes where he holds you.
"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. He's dying on my kitchen table. Please."
***
She's hurting him. It fucking hurts when she presses down on his side. If Simon could open his mouth, he might scream at her. Might beg her to stop. His heart feels like it's about to break out of his chest; he can't breathe through his stupid fucking mask. He's gasping, hand reaching out to grasp her wrist. He doesn't remember trying to do what.
"Ghost."
He doesn't want her to not know his name. If she's his angel, she needs to know what to call him when she delivers him to where ever they're going together. What kind of first date would it be if he didn't at least tell her his name? Aren't angels everlasting? Are they going to be together forever?
That might not be too bad.
"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. He's dying on my kitchen table. Please."
Hazy. What kind of name is that? Fitting though, he thinks, because he can't make her features about above him as she presses on his side.
Hazy.
Hey.
Hazy.
That fucking hurts.
***
They don't even attempt to just open the front door - it shatters off of its hinges as their boots connect with the flimsy wood. They come in guns pointed; it's not the first time this has ever happened to you. Might not be the last.
They're screaming at you to put your fucking hands up, and you're screaming at them to get you a fucking towel because he's bleeding through and you don't have anything else to put on top. It is a cacophony of noise; your ears are ringing, and your hands shaking against Ghost's side.
This is exactly why you left in the first place.
This shit fucking sucks.
One of the men - the youngest-looking one - finally listens to you and snatches a towel you have laying on the back of the couch. Outside you can hear an ambulance screaming; intermingling with the men screaming into their comms, screaming about getting someone there now.
Thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds and he's gone - loaded onto a stretcher and rolled out of your townhouse, the remnants of your broken front door slamming against the wall behind them. One man is still screaming at you, hand grabbing your shoulder roughly as the blood from your hands drips to the linoleum below.
***
Her hands are replaced with rough ones; they drag him away from her - he tries to stretch his hand out towards her to grab her, to bring her with him. Guardian angels have to come guard. He can't get anything to work.
It nearly fucking kills him, turning his head back towards her to catch a glimpse of her standing there, hands bloodstained and dripping. Johnny's screaming at her; he reaches out to grab her shoulder. Simon wants to tell him to take his fucking hands off of her - she's here for Simon anyway. Johnny doesn't get the girl this time.
She doesn't look at Johhny - she only has eyes for Simon.
That's good.
She disappears around the corner, her halo the last thing Simon can see in the darkness.
Okay, I got inspired and picked a call sign lol enjoy xx
Warnings: fluff, language, family reunion
You landed at Alejandro’s base, saying your goodbyes to him and Rudy, before you were back in the heli, and flying to the United States. Alejandro had gotten food for Abigail at his base before you all left, and once her belly was full, everyone was back in. You would be delivering her to her father at Fort Knox, Kentucky, where he was stationed as a Colonel. Price had only told you and the boys that you all were to change into your civvies, to keep things low key when bringing Abigail to her father.
Apparently, his team had been compromised while on a mission to take down that branch of the cartel. The leader had learned his name and rank, and eventually found his family. That’s how Abigail had ended up being taken hostage, and you all were sent to get her. As the heli touched down in the empty field, you sighed tiredly, even though you just woke up only a few hours before.
Simon gave you a look, that asked what’s wrong, to which you replied, “There’s just…so much evil in the world. It’s exhausting, when you see it for yourself.”
Simon didn’t reply, and only watched as you gently woke Abigail up, and told her to follow you off the heli. The little girl stood with your help, and grabbed your hand in hers, and let you lead her off the heli. Simon couldn’t help but smile under his balaclava. For someone who had it so rough as a child, you had such a big heart. You hadn’t hesitated to comfort Abigail during the time you and the team had been around her. You let the girl sleep on you, even though he knew you weren’t comfortable in the position you were sitting up in for hours on end. You were still kind, even though the person who was suppose to protect you the most had thrown you to the wolves at such a young age. You still had your innocence, even though someone had tried to rip it away from you.
Simon envied you in a way. Not because he thought you had it easier than he did growing up, but because of how well you seemed to deal with it. You were still able to put a smile on your face, and live a somewhat normal life. You were able to trust the men in your team easily, and know they would never do the awful things that some others would, if given the chance. Simon did trust his team, but it hadn’t been easy. Still, he kept them at a distance as much as he could, only going out the bare minimum he could, when Johnny annoyed him enough to force him off base. You were easier to convince, and for some reason, you convinced Simon to join more often too.
Soap caught onto the soft spot Simon had for you early on, and boy, did he exploit it. He had begun sending you to fetch Simon, knowing he would more than likely go out with everyone, if you were the one to ask. Simon wouldn’t ever admit it, but he enjoyed the trips to the pub, once he actually got there and settled in. You were so carefree, laughing with Soap and Gaz, and throwing their teasings right back at the men. You didn’t take shit from any of them, and Simon loved it about you. You and Simon would share a smoke, passing it back and forth between the two of you, as you leaned your head against his shoulder. He always could tell when you had enough to drink, because you became needy. You would lean against him more, whine a little more when you talked, and my god, how manipulative you got.
You knew how to work Simon, and he, along with the rest of the team, knew it. You knew what tone to use with him, soft, a little whiny. He was a sucker for it, and once again, Soap exploited that.
The five of you had left the pub one night, and loaded up into Simon’s truck. You were squished in the back seat, sitting between Soap and Gaz, while Price was in the passenger seat, and Simon drove. You, Soap, and Gaz had drank way more than you were suppose too, and sat in the back, giggling like a bunch of teenagers under your breath.
Soap saw the McDonald’s that was a few blocks from the pub pass by, and immediately started begging Simon to turn around, like a child begging their parent.
Fitting the role perfectly, Simon replied back, “There’s food at base.”
Soap huffed, groaning out, “Yeah, but it’s shite. Come on, Lt, just this once.”
“Johnny, you’re drunk. Shut it.” Simon shot back.
Soap rolled his eyes, and nudged you, his secret weapon. You tried to keep as straight face, as you leaned forward, your head between Price and Simon, and laid your head against the latter man’s shoulder. “Come on, Si, we always eat base food. Just this once, let’s get something different for a change.” you asked sweetly, glancing up at the side of his face.
“L/n, sit back, before you go flying through the windshield.” he ordered, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I’m noooot, I’m in a truck full of military men, you all won’t let me go through the windshield.” you argued, earning a chuckle from Price, who other than Simon, was the only other sober one in the vehicle. “Pleeeease, Si?” you whined, poking his arm with your finger.
Simon rolled his eyes, and used his free arm to push you gently back in the backseat. “Fine, stop your whinin’ and sit back.”
Soap, Gaz, and Price all laughed softly, especially after seeing your triumphant grin, as you sat back between Soap and Gaz. You and Soap fist bumped, as Simon turned the truck around, and drove back to the McDonald’s.
Everyone filed out of the heli, and two trucks were already there to pick you all up. You were handed clothes for you and Abigail, and since you were the only woman, you were tasked with helping the girl change into her clean clothes. Simon and Price had grabbed a bed sheet from Alejandro, before leaving his base, and while keeping their heads down, and using the truck to help shield you and Abigail, they held the sheet up for the two of you to change privately. The men didn’t care as much, letting you cover Abigail’s eyes, before they all changed into their civvies in the middle of the field. You had snorted at Soap, who nearly fell over, as he was jumping in place to pull up his jeans over his black boxers. He flipped you off, saying something stupid about taking a picture, because it would last longer than a memory.
He was only teasing, and you and everyone else knew that. Everyone had gotten a little laugh out of the exchange, well, except for Simon. He wasn’t mad, or anything like that. But he felt something…different, as Soap had said the words. It was like he didn’t want you looking at Soap, or any of the men for that matter. He didn’t really know where the feeling had come from, or why he was all of a sudden feeling that way. You weren’t his— well, you were, but not in a hey, only look at me, and only find me attractive, way. Simon had pushed the feeling back, telling himself he was being ridiculous, and that it didn’t matter if you looked at Soap like that or not. He knew better, he knew you viewed the team as brothers, maybe Price more like a father. But Soap and Gaz, yeah, they were definitely brothers to you.
Simon couldn’t help but think though, what if you did find that kind of love in Soap or Gaz? What if all those times Simon didn’t go to the pub with you, you had developed something with one of them? I wouldn’t care, Simon would think to himself, but he knew it was a lie. He blamed it on being captured with you, and being so content with dying while holding your hand, on the way he was feeling. Soap or Gaz would be good for her, he thought, before a sour taste seemed to linger on the his tongue at the thought. They’re too normal, a different voice said. They haven’t been through the things the two of you have, they don’t understand. You do. Simon knew it was dangerous for himself to be thinking that way. His relationship with you was perfect as it was, he didn’t need to start trying to make it into anything more. You both carried baggage, loads full of trauma. Some of the trauma you shared, while others you both had to carry the weight of yourselves. Still, you had told Simon he wasn’t alone anymore. You called him your soul mate, and told him it could be however he was comfortable with it being. So, were you willing to try something more?
Simon shook the thought out of his head, pushing it back into a deep, far corner of his mind. The mission wasn’t over, he still had a job to do. Thoughts like that would have to wait. He climbed into the first truck, after helping you buckle Abigail into the backseat. You climbed in the passenger side, not wearing your gear any longer, but a pair of skinny jeans, sneakers, and a plain T-shirt. Simon was dressed similarly, wearing jeans, a pair of work boots, and a plain black shirt. He had taken off his balaclava, and instead put on a black mask, that only covered him from the nose down. He felt naked, vulnerable, and hated it.
The plan was to go to the base under the disguise as a family going to visit a relative. You had explained to Abigail in the truck that the three of you were going to play family, and when one of you called her your daughter, you were just playing pretend. Abigail was excited by the game, saying she would be the pretend daughter, and would do everything you or Ghost said. Simon drove to the base, pulling up to the gate, and handed the man guarding it the three visitors passes Laswell had gotten for you all. Simon was Conner Daniels, you were his wife, Lacey, and Abigail was your bright eyed toddler, Grace. You and Simon thanked the man, and were permitted onto the base.
You turned in your seat, giving Abigail a smile. “You’re doing great. Hold mine and Ghost’s hand when we enter the building, okay? We’re gonna play the quiet game this time.”
Abigail nodded excitedly, and Simon parked the truck, and climbed out. You did the same, and walked to Abigail’s door, and opened it. You unbuckled her from the seat, and helped her out, immediately taking her hand in yours. Simon took her other hand, and the three of you walked in the base. Simon did all the talking as you were stopped at a checkpoint, explaining that the three of you were visiting a family member who had moved to the states years ago, and you were suppose to be meeting them in one of the briefing rooms. The soldier had been expecting you, and lead the three of you to where Abigail’s dad anxiously waited.
The door to the briefing room opened, and Abigail’s eyes widened, as she saw her father. He cried, falling to his knees, as she let go of yours and Simon’s hands, and ran to him. Colonel Johnson cried, wrapping his arms tightly around her, as a women knelt down, pulling the little girl into her arms next. You and Simon didn’t watch, and stood by the door, feeling like you were imposing on a moment between the reunited family. Colonel Johnson stood a few moments later, wiping his eyes with a tissue, as he made his way over to you and Simon. He smiled thankfully at you, holding his hand out to shake each of yours. “Colonel Terry Johnson, you must be the ones who saved my baby.” he said, his voice heavy with emotion.
You gave him a smile, and nodded. “Yes, Colonel. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sergeant l/n, and this is Lieutenant Riley.”
He glanced between the two of you, nodding. “Thank you, so much. If it wasn’t for you and your team, I— I don’t even want to think about what might’ve happened. I owe 141 everything, and if you ever need assistance with anything, just know you have friends across the pond ready to help.”
Simon gave him a nod, saying back, “Thank you, Sir. I’ll be sure to let Captain Price know.”
Johnson smiled once more, before turning to watch Abigail run between you all, and wrap her arms around you the best she could. “Thank you, Miss. Here’s your costume back.” she said, holding your balaclava up.
You knelt down, and took the balaclava into your hands. Even though Abigail had given it to you, you could see in her eyes that she really hadn’t wanted to give it to you. You glanced up at Simon, silently communicating with him, and turned back to Abigail, after he gave you a small nod. You smiled down at her, and held the balaclava back out to her. “Keep it, that way you can play dress up too.”
Abigail smiled, and practically snatched the balaclava back, earning a little laugh from you. She stared up at Simon, before walking over to him. “Can I hug you, Ghost?” she asked, watching as Simon slowly knelt down before her. She wrapped her little arms around his neck, hugging him as tight as she could. Simon hugged her back gently, patting her back softly, before they pulled away. “Be good for your parents, alright?”
She nodded, before she looked down at the balaclava. “What…what do I do if the bad guys come back?” she mumbled, glancing between you and Simon.
You could see Simon smile a little under the face mask he wore. He gently lifted the balaclava in her hands, showing her the half skull painted on it. “Hold onto this, and if if the bad guys come back, you tell them Ghost and Jay are comin’. They won’t stay around long after hearin’ that, Love.”
Abigail smiled, and nodded, before she gave Simon one more hug. She stepped back after a few moments, and ran back into her moms embrace. You and Simon stood, and finally left. As you were walking with him back to the truck, you gave him a look and asked, “Did you just give me a call sign?”
Simon shrugged, and unlocked the truck, before climbing in. “Bout time you had one.”
“Why Jay? I mean, what does it mean?” you asked, climbing in, and shut the door behind you, as Simom started the truck.
“Thought of a Blue Jay. They represent fearlessness and protection. Just felt right.” he said, seeing you smile from the corner of his eye. You sat back in your seat, thinking over the name. Jay, short for Blue Jay. Ghost and Jay. Huh, it kind of has a nice ring to it.
Most of this chapter will be a lot of dialogue without much in between. So if it’s confusing, let me know, and I’ll go back and reword stuff. Thanks!
The Progeny Series Part 7
Part 6
Photo credit goes to Brookebxrter. Not sure if they’re on tumblr or not. I sorta stole this pic from Google (:
Warnings: hostage situation involving a child, violence, death, language
About two hours later, the heli finally landed at the RV point. A Humvee had already been left by Rudy, when he had been on recon the night before. You all exited the heli, and began making your way to the Humvee, where everyone split off into their teams. You shared a look with Simon, who was now full Ghost mode, as he climbed into the front of the Humvee with Rudy. “Keep the comms open, everyone. I want to know what’s going on every step of the way. Understand?” Price asked into the comms, checking to make sure everyone was on the right channel, and everyone’s earpieces were working.
“Yes, Sir.” you all said, showing your earpieces and mics were in fact working properly.
Next, Alejandro nudged his head in the direction you and Soap would be following him. “Come on, Amigos. We have a job to finish.”
“More like a score to settle.” Soap said darkly, sharing a look with you, as you began walking.
Ghost grabbed your arm as you passed by, holding one of his civvie balaclava’s for you to take. “They’ve seen your face once, don’t let ‘em see it again.”
You nodded, and slid the balaclava on, noticing how it had the familiar smell of gun powder, and something you couldn’t put your finger on. It just all reminded you of Simon, telling you he had been wearing that balaclava at some point. You turned back to Soap and Alejandro, and the three of you began your half mile walk to the house. Price and Gaz got in their spots, hidden by thick foliage, as they watched the compound through their scopes. Ghost and Rudy settled into the vehicle, in case they had to hurry and pull off if they were compromised. “Alright, Bravo-1, Gaz and I will be taking the men out up front. Are you in position?”
“Yes, Bravo-1 is in position.” Alejandro replied.
“Good. I’ll give you the word when you’re clear to move. Bravo-2, out.”
Ghost and Rudy sat in silence, waiting for Bravo-2 to give Bravo-1 the clear to move. Finally, after only a few minutes, the order was given. “Bravo-1, clear to breach.”
The comms went quiet again, except for the sounds of you, Alejandro, and Soap moving towards the house. Soap mumbled quietly, “Planting a charge. Ready to detonate, in three, two, one—”
The loud boom sounded through everyone’s comms, and Ghost could hear shuffling, as Bravo-1 moved into the house. “Soap, up top!” you said into your comms, calling out an enemy you didn’t have a shot for.
“Got ‘em. Enemy down.” Soap replied back. The room went quiet, and Alejandro breathed into the comms, “Clear, Bravo-2, we are moving to the hallway. Soap, l/n, clear the rooms.”
“Copy.” you and Soap said, and every once in a while, a pop from each of your guns was heard, as the two of you cleared the rooms.
“Left hallway cleared.” Soap said, while you added a few seconds later after a pop from your rifle, “Right hallway clear.”
“Moving up to second floor.” Alejandro said. Ghost felt his heart hammer into his chest, when he heard your breathing pick up, and screams for help start coming from the second floor.
“Come on! Vamonos!” Alejandro said with urgency. The screams grew closer as the three of you moved down the hallway, each of you picking your rooms, and clearing them quickly. When only three rooms remained, one of them being where your hostage was, Alejandro called out, “L/n, get the hostage! Soap and I have these two!”
“Copy!”
Ghost gritted his teeth, his heart hammering rapidly in his chest. That bastard. You weren’t suppose to breach it alone, he had sworn you wouldn’t breach that room alone. “Y/n, watch yourself.” he ordered you, not receiving a reply, but he knew you heard him. He listened closely as you breached the room, yelling, “Drop your fucking weapon! Drop it!”
Yells could be heard coming from a man, along with screams from the hostage. They were high pitched, almost childlike, and Ghost sat on the edge of his seat waiting to hear your voice give the words they all wanted to hear. Instead, he got, “Let her go! Drop the weapon, and let her go!”
“Fuck you, military scum!” the man could faintly be heard yelling back.
“L/n, take the shot!” Soap yelled in the comms, forcing you to say back, “I don’t fucking have one, Soap!”
Ghost heard you begin to freak out a little, but you said calmly to the man holding the hostage, “Look, your beef isn’t with her, okay? Here, I’m dropping my weapon.”
Ghost cursed when he heard your rifle fall to the ground, and he could already see you standing there, with your hands in the air. “Aim it on me, motherfucker. You want blood, don’t take it from her. Take it from the military scum that just killed all your men.”
Suddenly, a shot rang out. Ghost felt like he would explode, not knowing what had happened. The hostages screams filled the room once more, and Ghost frantically said into the comms, “Bravo-1, what the fuck is happenin’?!”
There was some shuffling, before finally, your voice came through to him. “All teams, jackpot. Hostage is secure.”
Ghost let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relaxing into his seat, as he closed his eyes. He opened them back up, however, when he heard Alejandro say softly, “Hermana, go. She’s frightened.”
“Okay.” you said back, before changing your tone to a light and soft one, a tone Ghost was familiar with. “Hey, Sweetie. Look, you’re okay now, okay? We’re the good guys, Sweetheart. Your name is Abigail, right?”
Ghost stilled as he realized the hostage was a child, a small child from the sounds of it. The little girl shrieked, crying out that you looked like a bad guy. You must have remembered the balaclava on your face, because you said, “No, Hun, it’s just a mask. I’m just playing dress up, okay? Do you like playing dress up?”
A soft, “Yes.”, was heard through everyone’s comms.
“Awesome. Here, let me take off my mask, okay?” Everyone heard shuffling, as you removed the balaclava. Ghost could hear your smiling through your words, as you softly said to the girl, “See. I don’t look like one of the bad guys now, do I?”
“No, you’re pretty.” said the little girl quietly.
“Thank you. Look, I’m gonna untie you, okay. I’m gonna take this knife, and I’m just gonna cut the ropes, okay, Sweety? Is that okay?”
There wasn’t an answer, and the comms went quiet, until you said again, “Okay. Now, we’re gonna play a game, okay? Do you like games?” …. “Me too. Alright, I’m gonna give you my mask, and I want you to hug it real tight, okay? What we’re gonna do, is I’m gonna carry you out of here. I want you to hug my mask, and keep your face in my chest the whole time, okay? We’re gonna see who can keep their eyes closed the longest.”
“Okay. Are you good at this game, Miss?”
“I’m the champion at it. Let’s see if you can beat me, okay?”
More shuffling was heard through your comms, and you whispered soothingly to the child, as you pressed her against your chest. “Alright, ready to move.”
Soap and Alejandro boxed you and the child in between their bodies, in case there was anyone else left in the house they hadn’t known about. You hugged her tightly to your chest, whispering comforting words, and telling her how good she was doing. Finally, the four of you were out. You walked back to the RV, the little girl clinging onto you tighter, as she saw all the men surrounding you. Your balaclava—Simon’s balaclava, was gripped tightly between her fingers, and she raised it up to her face, hiding back in your chest. “Hey, it’s okay. These are my boys, okay. They’re here to protect us.”
She peeked out from your chest, her eyes landing on Ghost. “Is he playing dress up too?” she asked, glancing up at you, as she noticed the similarities between your mask and his.
You laughed a little, and nodded. “Yeah, he likes to pretend he’s a ghost. He’s a good ghost though, okay? He won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She nodded, before she glanced back at Ghost. “Miss, can I touch his mask?” she whispered, only to where you could hear her.
You smiled, and walked over to the Humvee. “Let’s get you in the vehicle, and we’ll ask him, okay, Abigail?”
She nodded, and the two of you climbed in the Humvee. Ghost looked back, making eye contact with you, before looking down at Abigail. She stared up at him with curiosity, before giving you a questioning look. You nodded encouragingly, and the little girl turned back around, and asked bluntly, “Can I touch your mask, Sir?”
Simon raised his eyebrow, but slowly nodded. As Rudy began driving after everyone had loaded in, you helped Abigail walk over to Simon. You kept her steady in the moving vehicle, as she slowly reached her hand up, and touched the hard skull plate. She traced her finger over the bumps and ridges of the plate, before a small smile came to her lips. You glanced at Simon, whose eyes were already on you. It was strange, seeing such a big, intimidating man, let a little girl no older than five, run her fingers over the skull on his balaclava. She was entranced by it, almost forgetting about all the traumatic things she had been through in the last few days.
Simon felt a warm feeling bubble into his chest. The little girl, Abigail, was still so innocent, even after everything she had seen and heard. She poked the tip of his nose through the plate, causing him to grunt, and grit his teeth in pain. Abigail stilled, her innocent doe eyes meeting his. “I’m sorry, Sir. Are you okay?”
Simon nodded, drawling out as softly as he could, “Yeah, m’nose is just a little sore.”
“Did the bad guys hurt it?” the little girl asked quietly, only wanting him to hear her.
Simon nodded, and guided her small hand with his comically larger one, back to the skull. “Yeah, I’m alright though.”
The rest of the trip back to where the Heli was, was silent. Abigail had made her way into the front seat, wanting to study Simon’s balaclava more closely. You and the rest of the team were shocked, when the man told you, “Hand her up here. I’ve got her.” You had helped her climb into Simon’s lap, while he adjusted himself to where she wasn’t pressing on his ribs, and watched as Abigail laid her head against his shoulder, and studied the skull plate closely. Simon ironically didn’t mind. The little girl had been through hell and back, and if touching his mask, and asking a million different questions made her feel better, he took it as a win.
Everyone loaded up into the heli, Abigail sitting between you and Simon, pressed into both your bodies. She curled into your side, and snuggled the skull print balaclava you had wore, to her chest. She fell asleep as soon as the lights cut off in the heli, the humming from the engine lulling her to sleep like a lullaby. You swallowed hard, leaning your head back gently, trying not to wake the sleeping child cuddled into your side. The rest of the team was asleep, the adrenaline rush from the mission tiring everyone out once it dissipated from their bodies. Simon glanced at you, quietly asking, “You alright?”
You nodded, and closed your eyes, softly replying back, “Yeah, just drained.”
“You handled it well, even though you scared the shit out of me.” Simon said, hearing you softly chuckle. “Get some rest, you earned it.” he gently ordered.
You nodded, peeking at him, and giving him a smile. “Has the student surpassed the master yet, Si?” you tiredly joked.
He huffed, and rolled his eyes. “Not by a long shot, Sweetheart. Still got a ways to go.”
You hummed back, letting yourself fall into a much needed sleep.
Warnings: fluff, slight mentions of trauma (but not details), language
Simon had been released from the med bay the next day, against everyones wishes. He was tired of laying in bed, unable to do anything but stare at the wall. You hadn’t been able to come back after the two of you had woke up, since Price had threatened to put you on leave if you didn’t go talk to the therapist. So, Simon had been left alone, and it nearly drove him mad.
Therapy had went how you expected, until certain questions began being asked. You were uncomfortable going into the appointment, but when the mention of your past began being brought up, the anxiety and turmoil almost was too much to bare. You had to push through though, so Price wouldn’t deem it necessary to put you on leave. So, you talked about your past, about the abuse you endured for years, the murders, and everything that happened while in foster care. You remained stoic, until Simon was brought up.
“So, y/n, tell me about your relationship with Lieutenant Riley.” Dr.Perez, the base psychiatrist asked.
You shrugged, fiddling with your hands in your lap. “We’re friends. Nothing much else to tell.”
Dr.Perez nodded, writing something down in his notebook. “Okay, let’s elaborate on that a little. Would you say you’re good friends, or just teammates who are friendly?”
“Good friends. I mean, we’re around each a lot. I…I enjoy his presence, and all he’s done for me.” you answered honestly, not sure why your friendship with Simon really mattered. “I’m sorry, Doc, but why does it matter?”
“The two of you were in a bad situation together, I’m just trying to gauge how much Mr.Riley’s…interrogation may have bothered you.” he replied back, taking down notes of what you had said. “How did you feel when Mr.Riley was being interrogated?”
You took a deep breath, not meeting his eyes, as you quietly replied, “Angry, scared, hopeless.”
“Hopeless?”
You nodded. “I knew I could stop it, if I just did as our captors said. But I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
You swallowed hard, your eyes distant, as the images of Simon being beaten flashed through your eyes. “Because he told me not too.”
“Who? Mr.Riley?”
You nodded.
Dr.Perez nodded also, and sat back in his chair. He studied you a moment, chewing on the end of his pen, as he gathered his words. “If Mr.Riley would’ve told you to tell them what they wanted, to make them stop hurting him, would you have done it, y/n?” he asked gently.
You thought about it for a minute, before shaking you head. “No.” you quietly said back.
“Why not?”
“Because it would’ve compromised my team. They would’ve been in danger, and Ghost and I wouldn’t have made it out. They would’ve gotten the information they wanted, and killed us.” you barely whispered, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“You feel guilty, y/n?” Dr.Perez asked.
You nodded, your tears finally falling. “Yeah. I couldn’t…I couldn’t do anything. He just…he sat there and took it, all of it. And he tried not to show emotion, and I just…I know it was because of me. Because he didn’t want it to hurt me. I just…I wish I would’ve done what I did sooner, and maybe we would’ve made it out before it got so bad.” you cried, wiping your eyes with a tissue Dr.Perez handed you.
He gave you a sympathetic look, before he sat up in his office chair, and gave you a more serious look. “You did everything you were suppose to, y/n. You were given orders by your superior to not speak, to not try and stop it. You did exactly what was expected of you. You got him out. He’s alive, and he’s okay. You did everything right.”
You nodded, but the ball of guilt still sat in your stomach. Simon had been through so much in his life. He had lost his family, his team, himself. He had been through more than you, and that was saying something. If there was one person in the world who deserved happiness, it was Simon Riley. After a few more minutes of your session, you were free to go. You wiped your eyes, and made your way through the base, and back to your barracks.
You sat at your table in your room, lost in thought. You did feel a little better after talking to the therapist, knowing you could trust him, and everything you said would remain between the two of you. Price had been right when he told you, it was always good to have someone that didn’t know you as personally as they did to tell you what they thought. If they didn’t have any preconceived opinions of you, it was more genuine.
You were taken out of your thoughts at your phone ringing, as you looked down, seeing a familiar name flashing on your phone screen. You smiled and answered it, hearing a friend of yours voice who lived in the states talking. You sat back, talking to him for a while, laughing at the pictures he sent of his latest cosplay. And idea suddenly filled your mind, and you found yourself asking, “Can you do me a huge favor?”
A few days later, you stood outside Simon’s office, a package in your hand, as you nervously knocked. “Come in.” his deep voice came from the other side, and you opened the door, and stepped in.
“Hey, are you busy?” you asked, knowing he had practically thrown himself into paperwork, since he wasn’t physically able to go to the gym or shooting range yet.
He shook his head, sitting his pen down, before his eyes landed on the package you nervously fumbled with. “What’s that?” he asked suspiciously, and through his civvie balaclava, you could tell his eyebrow was raised.
You pursed your lips, and sat it down on his desk. You hadn’t had the courage to open it, but had seen a picture of what was inside, when your friend had finished it. “I, uhh, I have a friend who owed me a favor. So, umm, I kind of had something made for you.” When Simon went to scold you for getting him a gift, and paying for it, you interrupted him, saying, “I didn’t pay for anything but shipping, and it’s not a gift. I know how you are, so…”
Simon huffed, and grabbed the package, pulling out a pair of scissors from one of the drawers of his desk, and cut the tape. He opened it, his eyes narrowing, as he reached in the box, and pulled out a wrapped object. You felt your heart race, and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. You pulled your knees up to your chest, and locked your fingers together around your knees. Simon sat back, and unwrapped the wrapping, chuckling to himself as he saw a familiar skull plate. “You’re somethin’ else.” he mumbled, tossing the paper into the trash bin, and held the skull plated balaclava in both hands.
You smiled shyly, saying quietly, “I felt bad, cause we weren’t able to get your balaclava back. So, when my friend called and started showing me some stuff he had put together, I just asked him if he could do it. I didn’t tell him anything personal, he doesn’t even know it was for someone else. He thinks I’m into dressing up now, or something.” you said with a little laugh, earning another chuckle from Simon.
He glanced at you, before nudging his head at the door. “Go lock it.” he ordered softly.
You nodded and stood, locking the door to his office, and turned around. He tugged the simple black balaclava, with a half skull painted on the bottom, off. You smiled a little, seeing the swelling had gone away from his facial injuries, and the bruises were nearly gone. He looked at you for a moment, the two of you sharing a look, before he put the new balaclava on. It felt similar to his old one, the skull plate fitting on his face comfortably. He felt naked when he wore the civvie balaclava, the skull plate gave him an extra later of protection from his face being seen. Simon closed his eyes for a second, before opening them back up. He stood, grunting a little, as his broken ribs still bothered him. You walked over, placing a hand on his back gently, while the other wrapped around his thick forearm. You went to move away, knowing he wasn’t big on affection, or having to have help with anything. You stopped though, feeling his arms wrap around you loosely. You tensed, not because you were uncomfortable, just shocked.
Simon was hugging you. Not a half hug, but a real hug. You wrapped your arms gently around him, careful not to touch his ribs, and rested your head slightly on his chest. You heard him take a deep breath in, like he was trying to keep his emotions from overflowing. Since he had told you if his past, something had shifting between the two of you. You felt closer to Simon than ever, a deeper connection to the mysterious man than you had ever felt. You felt like you knew the real him, the man behind the mask that only one other knew. Price knew Simon better than anyone, since they had served in the same base together when they were younger. Price had known Simon longer than anyone, so you felt honored to be one of the few people Simon had truly let it.
You didn’t know why, but standing there in the man’s arms, you felt you belonged there. After everything you had Simon had been through, holding his hand in what you were sure were your final moments, it was clear to you that you loved him. You wouldn’t tell him that, you couldn’t bring yourself too. But it was obvious that he meant more to you than a simple friend, a best friend even. “Simon?” you quietly asked, your voice muffled a little by his shirt, as he was still standing with his arms loosely wrapped around you.
“Hmm?” he hummed, the side of his head resting on the top of yours.
“Do you believe in soul mates?”
The question threw Simon off. Yeah, he had heard of people calling their significant other their soul mate. It was romantic, and everything Simon wasn’t, from what he knew. Still, he replied back, “Yeah, why?”
You moved your arms down a little to his hips, so you could hold onto him tighter without hurting him. “You know, that doesn’t have a romantic thing?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was thinking, without him even having to say it. “It doesn’t have to be some romantic shit. I…I won’t say I love you, Si…but I do think you’re my soul mate, ever how you’re comfortable with that being.”
Simon’s arms wrapped tighter around you, and he closed his eyes, finding comfort in the way your small arms wrapped around his massive body, as opposed to the usual feeling of dread and panic that touch usually gave him. He felt safe, loved, two emotions he wasn’t used to feeling. “I think you’re right, Love.” he mumbled, his voice deep with emotion.
The two of you stood there for what felt like forever, but really was only a few minutes. Finally, the two of you had separated, and you pulled a chair up beside Simon’s, to help him with the mountains of paperwork he was trying to get through. At first, he told you to go sit down and relax, that he had nothing better to, and you didn’t have to help. You wanted to help him though, and at your soft words asking him to please let you help him, he had finally agreed. So, the two of you sat side by side, Simon handing you a new paper to fill in all the recruits scores, each time you finished the last. It was peaceful, and quiet, until Soap suddenly entered in the office.
He gave Simon an eye roll, exclaiming jokingly, “Why is it you get an assistant and we don’t? I mean, come on, Lt.”
“What do you want, Johnny?” Simon asked, ignoring his question, as his eyes never left the words he was currently writing.
Soap swallowed hard, knowing Simon wasn’t gonna like what he had to say. “Price, he, uhh, told me to come find l/n. We have a briefing.” he cautiously said.
Simon dropped his pen, finally lifting his eyes up to Soap. “Why am I not included in this brief?” he asked lowly.
You placed a steadying hand on his under the desk, knowing he wouldn’t be comfortable with Soap seeing it. “You’re on medical leave, Si.” you reminded him gently.
Simon huffed, and forced himself up, biting his lip to keep from grunting at the pull in his ribs. “Nah, fuck that. Come on, we have a briefing.”
You sighed, sharing a look with Soap, knowing all hell was about to break loose. The two of you followed Simon to the briefing room, watched as he stalked in, his gaze focused on Price.
Price sighed, standing up from his chair. “Simon—”
“I’m perfectly capable of sittin’ through a briefing.” he said, leaving no room for argument, as he sat down gently in a chair.
You walked in with Soap, taking a seat beside Simon, while Soap sat between you and Gaz. The tension in the room was thick, as Price gathered files, and handed them out to you all. Alejandro and Rudy were in the room too, and took the files as Price handed them out. “The intel on the last mission was obviously bad. We were set up, and Laswell has found the people responsible, and handled it. So, we know where the hostage is now, and if you open your files, you can read through the proof.” Everyone opened the files, seeing the CIA had managed to get a spy into the compound, and confirmed the hostage was indeed there. “Now, since we’re down a man,” Price stopped, giving Simon a look to keep quiet. “Soap and Alejandro will lead the team in. L/n, you’ll be going in with them, if you think you’re ready.”
“I am, Sir.” you answered, feeling Simon’s heavy gaze fall onto you. You ignored him, earning a nod from Price.
“Okay, we’ll do the same teams as last time. Soap, you’ll be team leader with Alejandro. L/n, you’ll go in with them as support, while Gaz and I perch on a nearby building to give cover when we can. Rudy will stay at the RV point.”
“L/n, you’ll go after the hostage, while Soap and I provide cover.” Alejandro said, as your eyes landed on him. “Might make the hostage feel more comfortable if you breach in, instead of us.”
You nodded, but sighed, when you heard Simon drawl out, “You aren’t sendin’ her in there alone. The hostage will be fine, she isn’t breachin’ the room alone.”
“I’ll be fine. Soap and Alejandro will be there for cover. I’m perfectly capable of taking out a few guys in a room, you know that.” you argued, glancing at him.
You could see Simon’s jaw clench under his balaclava, and he wanted to argue, until Alejandro stepped in. “Ghost, she’s not going in alone. The two of you were captured on my watch, and I swear to you, Hermano, that won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”
Simon didn’t reply for a moment, but finally nodded, saying, “I’m not sittin’ around this base waitin’ for you all to get back. I can’t go in, I know. I’ll wait at the RV with Rudy.”
Price didn’t want Simon going, not with two broken ribs, and other healing injuries. He knew Simon would drive himself crazy though, wondering if you were okay, and how the mission was going. So, he nodded, agreeing to Simon’s terms. “Alright, that’s fine. We leave at 2200, be ready.”
Everyone nodded, and soon, you were in your room at Alejandro’s base, trying to tighten your vest. You were wearing all your gear, except for your combat helmet, which you would put on before climbing out of the heli. Your black cargo pants fit you snugly, along with your black long sleeve shirt. Your vest covered your chest and most of your stomach, and you had slid your heavy uniform jacket on under it. Your hair was out of your face, slicked down, so it wouldn’t get in the way. This mission was important, not just for the team, but for you. You had a score to settle, and you planned on doing just exactly that. As you reached out to try and tighten the vest at the back, you heard a soft knock on your door. You told the person knocking to come in, and glanced back, as Simon stepped in. He didn’t have his vest tightened yet, but was wearing his dark uniform, and the balaclava you had made for him. He didn’t say anything, just made his way over to you, when he saw you struggling with the vest. He gently moved your hands away, and grasped the straps in his hands, pulling them tightly to your body, to fit snug. “Too tight?” he asked.
You shook your head, looking down at your small desk. “No, it’s snug enough.”
Simon didn’t say anything, as he stepped back. You turned around, gesturing to his own vest. “Turn around, I’ll tighten it.” He went to argue, but you rolled your eyes. “Stop, you have two broken ribs. Just, let me tighten it.”
He finally huffed out a sigh, and turned around. You stepped towards him, and took the straps in your hands, and pulled them tight. He grunted a little, and you loosened the straps a bit, since he wouldn’t actually be going in the compound and would be with Rudy at the Humvee. “Is that tight enough?” you asked, earning a nod. “Is it hurting anything?”
“No, y/n, it’s fine.” he mumbled.
You nodded, and turned back to your desk, grabbing your gloves you planned on wearing, since it was cooler that night. Alejandro had gifted them to you, saying they would go good with the normal gear you wore, and keep your hands from getting cold. You were sliding them on, when Simon’s soft voice interrupted you. You looked a him over your shoulder, raising your eyebrow, silently asking what he needed. When he didn’t answer, you laid the other glove back on the desk, and turned around, leaning against it. “What’s wrong?”
Simon swallowed hard, and you knew he was trying to force the words he wanted to say out of his mouth. You didn’t say anything, just walked up to him, and timidly wrapped your arms around him. He stilled for a moment, before he slowly snaked his arms around you, accepting your embrace. “I’ll be fine.” you said, the hard plate of his vest pressing into your cheek, as he held you close. “You don’t have to say anything, Si. You’re worried, I know that. I’ll be fine, though. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” he mumbled, his voice deep emotions.
“I’m not. I’m gonna be fine, no matter what.” you replied, looking up at him. “I…I never thanked you for telling me all you did. You’ve been through so much, and..I know it was a lot reliving it all. But, seriously though, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” You paused, not sure how he would take your next words. Fuck it, you thought to yourself, and barely whispered to him, “You aren’t alone anymore.”
Simon didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he wanted curl back into his shell, and scold himself to telling you any of his past. But on the other hand, he wanted to cry, and hear you tell him again how he didn’t have to be alone anymore; that you were here now, and wouldn’t ever be taken away or betray him. He didn’t want to be alone anymore, and though it had been hard to accept, he had done it. He might not ever be able to love you in a normal, this is my significant other, who I want to have a family with, type of way, but he did want to love you in some kind of way, and never let you go. The thought of him not being there with you every step of the way inside the compound, truly and honestly scared Simon. But, it was like you had told him on the first mission you ever went with him and his team on, this is what you wanted and had worked so hard for.
All the ass whoopings in training with him, the mistreatment from your squad, the lies and whispers from other soldiers about you and him. You had went through all that, so you could be a valuable member of the team, and actually made a difference. You hadn’t come out and said it, but Simon knew you did it for your late dad. He had went to Iraq first, and fought for his country and people. He had given his life for his country and people. You wanted to make him proud, wherever he was. Who was Simon to stop you?
He finally gathered the courage to look down at you, his eyes even darker from the black paint surrounding them, as he took in your face. “Be careful, swear to me, you’ll be careful.” he ordered softly.
You gave him a small smile, and nodded. “I swear, I’ll be careful.”
Simon was satisfied with your answer, and untangled his arms from around you. “Come on, then. Heli leaves in ten.”
You let him lead you out the room, and to the heli, where you both climbed in. Everyone else settled in, and much like you had always done, since that first mission, you rested your head on Simon’s shoulder, and let yourself drift to sleep.
Warnings: this is gonna be another dark chapter. I promise, once we get through these tragic backstories, I’ll give you the fluff of a lifetime. I have to dive into the dark stuff to push the narrative where I want it to go, so if you aren’t into angst, just bare with me. Mentions of torture, death, SA, domestic abuse, drug use, and just overall pretty dark stuff. Read with caution.
Simon had sustained two broken ribs, was bleeding internally, and honestly was lucky to still be alive. He had been in med bay for a couple hours, hooked up to an IV, and was being given antibiotics to fight off infection from all his wounds. You were given fluids and antibiotics as a precaution, and were ordered by Price to go and talk to the therapist on base. You were usually good at following orders, but after the three days of pure anguish you had went through with Simon, you couldn’t find it in you to leave his side. When you were hooked up to your IV, you stood out of bed once the nurse had left, and made your way to where Simon was. You had to pull the stupid machine with your IV behind you, but it was okay, you just had to see him. You peeked your head in his room once you got down the hall where he was, seeing his cuts and burns had been cleaned and bandaged, and he now wore a loose fitting flannel to cover his chest and torso a little. You recognized the button up as one of Soap’s, since he had worn it a couple of times out pubbing. You knocked gently, watching as he turned to look at you, and gave him a small smile. “Hey, care if I come in?”
“Course not.” he replied, and turned his head back straight, and closed his eyes.
You made your way in, and took a seat by his bed, moving the machine and IV out of the way. You had been allowed to shower and change into your own clothes, before the nurse ran your IV. So you wore a plain black T-shirt, and your favorite pair of sweatpants. You had on a pair of hospital socks on your feet, and laughed lightly when Simon gave you an unimpressed look from behind his plain balaclava. “What?” you asked, smiling shyly.
“They let you wear your civvies.” he answered dryly, letting his eyes close once more, as he relaxed in your presence.
“They’ve gotta be able to get everything, Si. Just do as they tell you, and you’ll be back intimidating all the new recruits in no time.” you joked a little, earning a grunt in reply. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shite. Hurts to breath too deep, and I’m fuckin’ exhausted. Can’t sleep though.”
“I know.” you whispered, propping your sock clad feet on the railing under his bed.
“How do you feel?” he asked, not looking at you, as he opted to keep his eyes closed.
You shrugged a little, looking down at your hands that rested in your lap. “I’m suppose to leave here and go see the  psychiatrist. I just… therapy’s never helped before, ya know? So, seems pointless.”
Simon finally looked at you, and reached over, placing his large hand on top of both of yours. His hand covered yours, and he stopped your fidgeting, giving you a soft look. “Go, if not for yourself, then just to appease Price. You’ve never been interrogated before, he’s just worried is all.”
You nodded, holding onto his hands with a tight grip. “We…we almost did it..or, at least, I did. I’ve been through some stuff, but…I’ve never done that, ya know?”
Simon knew what you were referring too. The two of you were ready to kill yourselves before being taken back as hostages. Simon knew that single action, that split second decision, had affected you. Hell, the entire ordeal had. His voice was soft, barely a whisper as he said, “I have. I’ve made that decision before. It’s…its fucked up, I know. I’m sorry it almost came to that, Y/n.”
You felt your stomach twist, when your first name came out his mouth. In the entire four years you had known him, he had never called you by your first name. You were always L/n, or your rank. You had never been Y/n to Simon. You squeezed his hand, a tear falling down your face. “You..you’re wanted to do that? In the past?”
Simon wasn’t one to share details of his past, ever. But for some reason, he wanted you to know. He could see it in your eyes, you had been through traumatic shit yourself. He wanted you to know he understood, truly understood. “I was in the SAS, and my team was sent to Mexico after doing a tour in Afghanistan. Our commander, he…he’d been captured, and the leader of the cartel we were sent after brainwashed him. He gathered us up like cattle to be slaughtered, and led us straight into the cartels trap. Skyes was one of the men on our team, his parachute failed when we went to jump, and he died before the mission even started. He was a lucky bastard though, out of all four of us, he got the faulty parachute.” he said, with a dark chuckle, before continuing.
“We knew someone had messed with the chute, since Skyes was always double checkin’ it. He had a fear of heights, so he would’ve known if somethin’ was wrong before jumpin’. Our commander, Vernon, he was quick to say it was an accident. I was young, naive, so I believed him. We reconvened in a hotel, and Vernon and I started plannin’ on how to infiltrate the cartel leader, Roba’s, estate. Afterwards, the boys wanted to go to a pub, to blend in. So of course, I went along. Cumberland was the newest addition, so Vernon had warned us to watch ourselves around him, since we hadn’t spent up as much time trainin’ with him for the mission.
I was so sure that Cumberland was the rat, I just…was so sure. He had gotten Washington and Sparks drunk, and left the bar. I tailed him, and saw him getting’ in a black vehicle with some men. Of course, I told Vernon, and asked if we should abort the mission, but Vernon claimed he had seen six jihadists at Roba’s estate durin’ his recon. So, the next night, we dressed up for the party being held at the estate, and started the mission.
Vernon and Cumberland had already entered the house, an I snuck in, and found Cumberland upstairs tied to a chair. They had castrated him, and I tried to help him, but Vernon came up behind me, and shot him. Cumberland had seen Vernon sabotage Skyes pack, and that night at the pub, he had called in for a Delta Squad to come assist us, and take Vernon in.
We were all taken, and for weeks, we were tortured, brainwashed. We were made to fight each other, while Roba and Vernon watched, so they could see who was the strongest out the three of us. I fought Washington and knocked him unconscious once. Roba would…reward us, when we did as we were told, or did something he thought was impressive. He ordered me my own tent, said there would be woman there waiting, and I could do whatever it was I wanted with ‘em. Didn’t matter if if killed ‘em, they were mine, because I had earned them.”
You could hear the disgust in his voice as he spoke of the rewards. It made him sick to his stomach reliving it all, but he couldn’t stop himself from continuing. “Vernon didn’t agree. He said I held back, that he had seen me in a real fight, an if I was givin’ my all, I would’ve killed Washington. So, they locked me in a box with scorpions, said if I could be still enough, they wouldn’t sting me.” At his words, Simon suddenly felt like he was eight years old ago. His father was a cruel man, always calling him a coward for being scared of things. Tommy wasn’t afraid of anything, and the elder Riley would always remind Simon of how pathetic it was being outshined by his baby brother. Rocco, his fathers pet, was Tommy’s favorite thing in the world. It was a large snake, and Simon would be forced to kiss it before bed every night. To that day, Simon Riley was terrified of snakes, even though he wouldn’t admit it, or show it. “I..I have no…want for anything…with anyone.” Simon quietly said, his eyes distant, like he was staring off into another world. “We were kept with others in the prison, and…Vernon would just throw us back in the cell, and leave. It didn’t matter what shape you were in, you were always tossed back in the cell, and whatever happened, happened. A man, he…”
“Don’t.” you interrupted, your eyes glistening with tears, as you knew what he was leading too. You had leaned closer to Simon at some point, and held his hand against your chest. You closed your eyes, bringing his hand to your cheek, where you felt him softly caress you. “How’d you get out?” you asked softly, leaning against the side of his bed, as you brought his hand back down, and held tightly onto him.
“Washington and Sparks woke me up one night, said they overheard that we would be killed at dawn. They were able to pick the locks to their cells, but they claimed they couldn’t get mine open. I told them to leave me, so they did. Not long later, Roba’s men came and got me. They….they had killed Vernon a few days before. They dug him up, and threw me in the casket, before buryin’ it again. I laid there for a while, but after some time, I was able to pull myself together. I used Vernon’s jaw bone to break through the wooden casket, and dug myself out. Took hours, more than ten, I know. I just wanted to live though, to make it home, to…to my family. Four months later, I made it home.
I would have these…nightmares, where I would almost kill Roba, only for him to tell me it was all in my head. It was every night, and…I started hurtin’ people, women, in the nightmares. It wasn’t me, and it scared me. My mum…she was always there. She always encouraged me to go see my father, since the bastard was dying. I never did, and to this day, I don’t regret it a bit. Finally, I came back in contact with Sparks. He’d been brainwashed, and as I was gettin’ ready to apprehend him, he saw this woman he’d been eyein’ at the pub we’d been at. He followed her home, and I tagged along, not wanting anythin’ to happen to the girl. He wasn’t able to hurt her, so we went back to his motel, and that’s when Sparks said he planned on getting back to Mexico.
I pulled a knife out on him, and as I was about to kill him, Washington came in. He shot me, but I was able to get away. Stole a cab, and just rode around for a while, tryin’ to clear my head. That’s when it hit me, what was happenin’. I drove home, and that’s when I found them. They’d killed all four of them. Mum, Tommy, his wife, and my nephew.” Simon barely whispered. That far off look in his eyes never left, as he replayed the imagine of his family laying by the Christmas tree, gunned down in puddles of their own blood.
You blinked back your tears, knowing it would only make Simon feel that much more vulnerable if you cried for him. You laid your head on his thigh, the only part of his body that wasn’t injured. “My dad, he died in Iran when I was little. He was one of the first ones they sent, and I still remember hearing mom’s screams, when the two men knocked on our door, and handed her his tags. She wasn’t the same after he died, not after finding out what had happened. We…we couldn’t even look at him one last time. There was nothing the morticians could do, he had…he had been burned alive when his plane was shot down. Mom just…lost it. She married my step dad, after only a few weeks of knowing him. He had money, seemed like an okay guy. He…he was a monster though. Mom was determined to keep him around, since he had plenty of money for us to live comfortably on, and she could buy all the pills she wanted to keep herself from having to face reality. He…he would sneak in my room, and make me…do things. Mom knew about it, and she encouraged it, because if we didn’t keep him happy—satisfied, we’d have no where to go.
Mom got pregnant with my little sister when I was eleven. Something in my step dad just…snapped. He…he started hitting us both, and the abuse just…it just intensified. Mom stayed though, she took every hit with a smile on her face. Finally, he just…he killed them, both of them. I hid, and I guess he didn’t care enough to try and find me. He just walked over their bodies, went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and fell asleep on the couch. I stayed in that house for hours, knowing my mom and baby sister were just in the other room, lifeless. He finally left, and I called the police. They found him a few days later, and he ended up being sent to prison for life.
I was asked if he had ever done anything to me, and I lied. I told them no, that he never touched me, or forced me to do things. I could hear my mom in my head, telling me that we had to do what we had to, to survive. So I just…I just never told it. I heard her again, when you were fighting to stay alive. You gotta do what you have too, to survive. ….foster care sucked, and when I turned eighteen, I just went to the recruiter, and told them I didn’t care where they put me, I just wanted out. So, here I am, doing what Dad did, I guess.” you carried off.
Simon had listened intently, your own story sparking something in him. He pushed you hair back from your face, and softly rubbed your temple, neither of you speaking. You sat like that for hours, just feeling Simon’s rough hand gently rub against your skin. Neither of you moved, as you finally let yourselves sleep.
Warnings: language, torture, heavy angst, talk of suicide, it’s a really dark chapter guys, please don’t read if you think you can’t handle it, I also switched between using Ghost and Simon a lot, so yeah, don’t get confused
After the gym incident, Simon had become sort of a shadow, always hanging around you, and daring anyone to even look at you the wrong way. He had reprimanded Owens, telling her that silly drama and rumors about any member of his team, would not be tolerated. She hadn’t spoken another word to you or about you, or even glanced in your direction for the matter. She tended to leave the room whenever you and Simon, or any other member of 141 entered.
You had gained a reputation around base, as the girl who didn’t need to be messed with. Your quickness to step up to Owens, along with the fact that Ghost was practically your personal guard dog, made everyone who didn’t know you around base wary. You didn’t mind, in fact, you preferred it that way. 141 was your family, and you didn’t need anyone else trying to come in and ruin that.
Price had informed the team a few days later, that they would deploying to Mexico, for a search and rescue assignment. Apparently, some important guy from the states had gotten himself into trouble with the cartel, and his daughter was paying the price for it. So, you and the boys geared up, climbed onto the heli, and prepared to go and rescue the girl.
You sat between Simon and Soap, in your usual seat, your head laid on Simon’s shoulder, as you tried to get some sleep. You were nearly asleep, when you heard Price said quietly, “Turn her comms off, Soap.” You kept still, as you felt Soap gently flick your comms off, and your ears were filled with the full buzzing sound of the heli through the noise canceling headset the team all wore.
You couldn’t hear Price and Gaz, but you could vaguely hear Simon and Soap, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. You felt left out, wondering what was such a secret, that they hadn’t wanted you to hear. Or, did they just not want to wake you? Your anxiety started to flare up, and you nearly cursed, when you felt Simon shift. He knew you were awake. He reached over wordlessly, flicking your headset back on, and Price’s voice filled your ears. “Man, I need a fucking smoke.”
You felt your heart rate slow back down, and you felt stupid for thinking the worst. They were just talking, of course. They hadn’t wanted to wake you. You finally opened your eyes, knowing you wouldn’t be able to sleep, and sat up, your body pressed into Simon’s and Soap’s sides, as you rubbed your eyes a little. “Wasn’t much of a nap, L/n.” Gaz said into his comms, chuckling at you.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll be alright, just need you all to keep me company.” you replied back.
Gaz smiled, and you sat back, adjusting your bulletproof vest, so it fit more comfortably on your body. “So, what’s the plan again, Cap?” you asked Price, not wanting to admit that you had zoned out a little during briefing.
“We’ll be teaming up with Los Vaqueros, Colonel Vargas and Ghost lead the team. You and Soap give them backup. Gaz and I will be stationed on the hill, about a hundred yards from the compound, while Sergeant Parra will wait with evac. Gaz and I will pick off any stragglers that the four of you may miss. Get in, stay quiet, and get the hostage out, alive. Easy.” Price replied, giving you a look that said, ‘Pay attention next time.’
You gave him a bashful smile, and nodded. “Duly noted, Sir.”
Price have you a single nod, and everyone went quiet. Soon, you landed in Mexico, and met up with the colonel and sergeant, who you learned went by Alejandro and Rudy. Alejandro was a nice man, greeting the boys with a smile. “Hermanos, it’s good to see you all again.”
“Same, Hermano. You ready to get this done?” Soap asked, he and Alejandro giving each other a pat on the back.
“Always.” Alejandro said, with a smirk. He turned to you, holding his hand out for you to shake. “A new member? What do they call you, Hermana?”
“L/n.” you replied, shaking his hand, then Rudy’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Colonel.”
Alejandro gave you a kind smile, replying back, “Call me Alejandro. Any member of 141 is family here, there’s no need for titles.”
You smiled and nodded, before everyone began getting into their positions, ready to start the mission. Alejandro led the formation of your team as first man, followed by Ghost, then you, and Soap taking the rear. The four of you moved through the compound as one, the only sounds being the occasional order from Alejandro or Ghost, and the sounds of bodies dropping. Once you reached the area of the compound the hostage was suppose to be in, a sinking feeling settled into your stomach. You placed your hand on Simon’s shoulder, a sign to stop, as he turned and gave you a questioning look. “I’m sorry, but…hasn’t this just been a little too easy?” you barely whispered into your comms.
“You feel it too?” Simon asked, earning a questioning look from Soap and Alejandro.
You nodded, your eyes burning into Simon’s, and you knew something was wrong. “Bravo-2, what’s your status?” Price asked into the comms.
Simon’s eyes stayed on yours, as he quietly replied back, “Just feels a little off. There’s not enough resistance.”
“The intel came from Laswell, Ghost. Surely, it’s good.” Soap chimed in.
The next second seemed to go in slow motion. One second, you were holding onto Simon’s shoulder, and Soap was pressed against your back; the next, Simon was on top of you. You didn’t know what had happened at first, but the ringing in your ears told you it had been something loud. Bullets started flying all around, and you barely registered Simon grabbing you, and pulling you behind a large shipping crate. He had your back pressed against the crate, and your face was level with his chest, as he grabbed his rifle, and peeked over the crate. He began firing shots at men who filed into the room, and all at once, your instincts seemed to kick in. You grabbed the pistol from one of the holsters on his thighs, and staying between him and and crate, turned and leaned yourself up, and began firing.
“Shit, grenade! Move!” he called out, grabbing you, as the two of you moved like one to different cover. The grenade went off, and once again, Simon shielded you from the blast. He grunted, feeling bits of shrapnel imbed in his legs, cutting through the thick material of his jeans.
“I’m out!” you called to him, planting yourself on the ground, and pressed your back against the crate. “What do we do?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even, but failing.
One of Simon’s worse fears had just come true. He saw the two of you were alone, your comms were dead, you were outnumbered, with nowhere to go. He knew one of three things was inevitable. One: the enemy would kill the two of you, two: they would kill him, seeing him as a bigger threat, and simply just take you, or three: the two of you would go willingly, and hopefully Simon could keep you alive, until the team was able to find you. It didn’t take much for his mind to be made, and soon, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was doing something he had never done before: surrendering.
“What are you doing?” you asked, your eyes wide, as he began dropping his weapons.
“Buying us and the boys time. Drop your weapons.” he ordered. In that moment, he wasn’t Simon telling you what to do. He was all Ghost.
You trusted him, although the idea of surrendering to the cartel terrified you. You did as he said, dropping your weapons, and putting your hands up. The men all came up to the both of you, guns aimed on you both, as you were forced to your knees. You were bind, gagged, and bagged, and led into a vehicle that sat just out back from the compound. You could feel Simon—Ghost, behind you, and pressed into him, your fingernails digging into your palm, as you tried to remain calm. You felt his gloved hands grab yours, since you were sitting back to back, and you relaxed your fingers, to instead grip tightly onto each of his hands.
You weren’t sure how long the drive was, but your grip on Simon’s hands tightened, as you felt the vehicle stop. You heard the engine turn off, and doors open, as your captors climbed out. The back doors of the vehicle were pulled away, and you felt hands roughly grab your, and pull you out the back. The men led you blindly into wherever they had taken you was, and you blinked back tears under the black bag around your head, as you didn’t feel Simon beside you anymore.
You were scared, terrified, but knowing he was beside you, holding your hands in his, had been comforting. Now, you didn’t know if they would separate the two of you, or if either of you would be even alive in a few moments. You got your answer, when you were shoved into a room, and heard the door slam shut behind you. Everything was silent, except for the ragged breaths coming from your gagged mouth. You couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anyone, and you felt more alone than you ever had in you entire life.
You didn’t know exactly how long you were alone, at least a few hours, you concluded, before the door was being pulled open again. “Get up.” a heavy accented voice said, grabbing you by the arms, and dragging you to wherever they were taking you. You heard another door open, and heard familiar grunts coming from Simon, as you pushed into the room. Another set of hands grabbed you, and you felt yourself being pushed into a chair. Your hands were undone, only to be tied to the handles of the chair, and the bagged was suddenly ripped from your head. You narrowed your eyes at the blinding light, blinking a few times to try and let them adjust to the sudden brightness of the room. Your eyes finally searched for Simon, widening, as they landed on him.
He was in a chair in front of you, only a few feet away. He was shirtless, his vest gone, and the top of his uniform looking like it had been cut away. The thing that really shocked you though, was his face. They had taken his mask, leaving his face bare, except for the black paint that was smeared over his eyes. His short blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, and he looked like he had had water poured over him, as his skin still glistened in the bright light. He barely looked up at you, looking like he was fighting to remain conscious. They had beaten him, bloodying his nose and lip, but looked like they had intentionally left his eyes alone, probably so he could see you properly when they brought you in. His upper and middle torso was black and blue, and you could see blood coating his skin, from where the skin had split is some places from the beating. Simon sighed, closing his eyes tightly, as his head went slack with exhaustion.
You nearly cried. He was tired, from the hours of beatings he had endured. He looked so vulnerable like that, tired to a chair, maskless. The mask…it brings me comfort. You held your tears in, your training kicking into overdrive, as one of your captors came into your view. Your face remained stoic, as you looked up at him. He knelt down to where he was eye level with you, and gave you a sick smile. “Ahh, here she is. Such a pretty face.” he commented, running his pointer finger along your jaw. You remained still, your eyes burning into his, as he laughed amusingly at you. “Now, this is how this will go, Señorita. Your friends already been through enough, but it can always get worse. I’m going to ask you some questions, and for every right answer, he gets a little break. If you lie to me, or just decide to keep that pretty little mouth shut, he gets a punishment. Comprender?” he asked.
“Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut, Sergeant.” Simon— no, Ghost, ordered you weakly.
You swallowed hard, as the gag was pulled from your mouth. Your captor stood, and walked over to Simon, chuckling at him. “He’s tough, isn’t he?” he asked. You gritted your teeth, as smacked Simon on the cheek, chuckling at how worn down he was. “Bring me my knife.” The man ordered one of his men. The man handed it to him, and he gave you a look, asking, “Who do you work for?”
You didn’t reply, keeping your eyes on his, as pressed the knife to Simons right pec. “Who do you work for?” he asked again, his eyes narrowed, as he pressed the sharp blade down in Simons skin.
Simon bit his lip, not wanting to make any sound, since he knew you weren’t as desensitized to things like he was. He didn’t want to be the reason they broke you, so even as the man sliced open his skin, he didn’t utter a sound. You felt sick, as fresh blood trailed down Simons chest, down to his muscular stomach, before dropping to his jeans. You knew they would hurt him, bad, if you didn’t talk. But you couldn’t compromise your team, no matter what. Ghost wouldn’t want you to comprise the team, and if you spoke, the both of you would be dead.
The man smirked, took the knife, and walked over to you. He reached out, wiping Simon’s blood onto your pants leg, before he sat it down on the table beside him. “Hmm, you’re loyal, aren’t you?” he asked, walking over to the table all the torture devices were laid out on. He hummed, like he was simply shopping for jewelry, and not trying to find the perfect device to bring as much pain to your partner as possible. Finally, with a delighted, ‘Aha.’, he made his way back to Simon, a blowtorch and iron prod in each hand.
The next round of torture was brutal. Simon couldn’t keep his grunts in, no matter how hard he tried to sink into the back of his mind, and ignore the pain. The fiery hot iron branded his skin, sizzling beneath the heat, and leaving a nauseating stench of burnt flesh in the room. You kept your mouth shut, like Simon had ordered you, but were unable to keep the tears from falling down your face at his painted grunts and groans. The man had grown frustrated when neither of you spoke, and resorted to just beating Simon again, until the beast of a man was unconscious. He left the room then, along with his men, leaving you and Simon alone.
You finally let yourself show more emotion, you cries falling past your lips quietly, as you couldn’t hold them in any longer. You sat there for a while, listening to Simon’s heavy breathing. You watched him for what felt like hours, just stared at his chest, and made sure it didn’t stop rising and falling. When boredom had nearly drove you mad though, you began counting his scars, the ones you could see at least. Finally, you studied his face, imagining it without the cuts, bruising, swelling, and black smeared paint. He was an attractive man, with a sharp jawline, light blonde stubble, and full lips. You didn’t think Simon would be a blonde, but when you sat and studied him, you realized that it suited him.
His hair was a lighter shade of blonde, a color most people would be envious of. His hair was shaved short on the sides, but left a little longer on the top. You couldn’t help but stare, wanting to memorize every detail of his face, in case it was the last time you were able too. Finally, Simon’s eyes slowly opened, and he did the same thing you had, and blinked at the bright lights. You didn’t say anything, just looked down, closing your eyes. He hadn’t wanted to show you his face yet, and you felt ashamed of yourself for sitting and studying him. You felt like one of the women on base, just sat and studied him every chance they got. The least you could do is not look while you were alone. You at least owed him that.
Simon groaned, picking his head up, and grimaced. His head hurt, his torso, everything hurt. His legs were numb from sitting for so long in the same position, and his hands ached from gripping them so tightly into fists during the interrogation. Simon hadn’t felt like that since he was captured seven years ago. Ironically, it had been in Mexico, by a cartel he and his team were after. They tried to break him, but of course, he was stronger. So, they buried him alive. Once again, he was stronger, and with the jaw bone of his traitor commander, he dug himself out. Simon had become Ghost then, as he clawed his way through the dirt, determined to make those who had hurt him pay. He had made them pay, but not without consequences.
He finally realized where he was, and his eyes landed on you. His mind was foggy, but he could remember small bits and pieces of what all had happened. The two of you were captured, they had interrogated him for hours, before bringing you in, and then they interrogated him more, trying to break you. He assumed you hadn’t broke, since he was still alive. His voice was raspier than usual, as he called for you, watching as you looked up, but kept your eyes off of him. He realized then that he could the air from the large fan above brushing over his skin. Of course, they had removed his mask. “Sergeant, it’s okay. You can look.” he drawled out, his voice quiet, since it hurt in his ribs and chest to talk too loudly.
“I know. I…I already have. I-I’m sorry, Ghost.” you apologized, opening your eyes, but keeping them in the large fan above the two of you. You didn’t use his first name, knowing that was information your captors didn’t need to know. He also hadn’t said your last name, like he usually did. Call signs and ranks were the safest way to address one another, and you both knew it.
“S’okay, Sergeant. Look at me, it’s okay.” he assured you, his eyes meeting yours, as you finally looked over at him. He could tell you had been crying. Your eyes were red and puffy, and your cheeks were red. He looked you over, seeing they hadn’t removed any of your uniform, only your vest. Your hair was still pulled up, but it was messy. “Have they touched you?”
You shook your head, taking a deep breath, and swallowing hard. “No, they haven’t touched me. Not to interrogate me, anyways.”
Simon barely nodded, glancing around the room, trying to take in his surrounding. He turned back to you, after getting a feel for the room, and said, “You did well. Whatever they do, you can’t tell them anythin’. Chances are, they’ll continue to try and break you. They know I won’t say anythin’.”
You nodded, feeling a single tear fall from your eyes. Simon sounded like your lieutenant in that moment, not your friend you sat and ate dinner with in his office. He was in straight survival mode, and you did your best to keep up. “What do we do?”
“First chance we get to get outta here, take it. Don’t do anythin’ stupid though, it’ll get us killed.” he answered robotically, moving his hands to test the ropes tying them down. The fuckers could tie a knot, that much he knew. “Just, remember your trainin’. Don’t speak to them, just let them do their interrogation, and remain quiet. The less they know, the better.”
You didn’t say anything, and the room went quiet. There wasn’t much to say. The two of you were stuck, until an opportunity presented itself for a potential escape. If that opportunity would ever come was a gamble, but you and Simon didn’t have any other choice. It was either sit around, hope Simon’s body could endure the beatings and torture, and wait on the team to hopefully find your location; or try and escape. You knew 141 was a hell of a team, and would do everything they could to find the two of you, but still, you didn’t like Simon’s chances waiting on that to happen.
So, you began doing what Simon had done, and tried to wiggle your hands free from the ropes. They were on tight, and your skin burnt as the ropes rubbed against you, leaving harsh red friction burns. You didn’t care though, you were in survival mode, and Simon couldn’t handle many more beatings like he had. Eventually, Simon told you to stop, and save your strength for the next wave of interrogation. You did as he said, the two of you sitting in silence once more.
It was the same thing every time the door opened. The same two men would walk in, beat Simon, ask you questions, and beat him more when you didn’t answer. You were emotionally drained, and there wasn’t a single inch of Simon that hadn’t suffered in the many long hours you two were stuck in that room. They forced you both to drink water every few hours, threatening to beat you both if either of you didn’t comply. So, you drank the little bit of dirty water that was given you both. You could tell your interrogators were getting annoyed though, when instead of water, you were given straight vinegar for a full day. Of course, this was another torture tactic. Your stomached churned violently from the vinegar, and you and Simon both had vomited from the mass amounts of vinegar and dirty water. The room you were in was dirty, you and Simon were dirty and weak, and giving up seemed like a better idea than fighting the longer you were there.
Simon was off worse than you though. His body was begging to shut down, and you could see it. He was the strongest man you had ever met, but even he had his limits. After a brutal beating, the men had left the room, and you immediately turned to Simon, calling out, “Ghost, Ghost! Look at me! Lieutenant, open your eyes, look at me!”
He groaned, his voice ragged, as he fought to keep his eyes open. You panicked, and stretched out your leg, barely able to tap the foot of your boot against his. “Ghost, I need you to focus on me, okay? Keep your eyes open, Sir. Don’t let them close.”
He took a deep, ragged breath, his eyes lifting to yours, and you could see so many different emotions pooling into his dark irises. You smiled softly, your eyes burning back into his. “Where did you grow up?” you asked, wanting to keep him talking, so he didn’t pass out. “You sound like your from somewhere up north, right? Manchester, maybe?”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Y-yeah, Manchester.”
You forced a chuckle past your lips, nodding. “I can tell, sometimes can’t understand a damn thing you say.”
Simon’s top lip barely twitched, and you knew you had amused him. You racked your brain for something else to ask him, finally coming up with, “Why’d you join the military, Ghost?”
“Wanted to…to help people. Seemed like the best option.” he mumbled, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He knew they had been bruised yesterday and the day before, but today, he was sure he had a few broken. He hurt everywhere, both from heavy fists pounding into his bones, muscles, and flesh, but also the cuts and burns from knives and the iron prod. He would be covered in more scars than he already had been, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. No, he didn’t care. “Not gonna make it out here, Sergeant. Jus’…promise me, you’ll get out. Do whatever you have too, just get out.”
You felt your heart break at his words, and you shook your head. “No, don’t talk like that. You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get out of here, together, you hear me, Lieutenant?” you said, your voice raising, as you grew angry. This was Simon Riley, fucking Ghost. He couldn’t give up. No, you wouldn’t let him. “You remember that day in training, when you knocked me on my ass for the first time?”
“Yeah. Of course I do.” he said, with a small smirk on his lips. His voice was weak, and you knew the signs of blood loss. You had to keep him talking, just keep him talking.
“I was so embarrassed, Lt. I mean, there I was, an eighteen year old recruit, and fucking Ghost put me on my ass. But you know what, I was fucking honored. You’re one of the best soldiers at the base, and you took the time out of your day, to knock me on my ass. You’re not giving up on me, because even when I was late that first time, you gave me a chance and stayed. You taught me everything I know, and I owe everything to you! So open your fucking eyes, Ghost! Open them!” you were sobbing at that point, angry tears falling down your face, and onto your shirt and pants. You thrashed your hands in their bindings, nothing else on your mind, but getting to Simon, and getting him help.
At your words, and hearing your voice break into sobs, Simon gritted his teeth, and forced himself to sit up. Dizziness hit him like a train, and his head swam, and vision blurred. He closed his eyes tightly together, and took small breaths, until the dizziness passed. His eyes stayed locked into yours, as he panted, grimacing with every breath. Your bottom lip trembled, but you nodded at him. “Yeah, that’s it. Just keep breathing, okay? I’m gonna get us out of here. I’m getting you out of here, okay? I swear.” Simon didn’t reply, but you could see his reply in his eyes. He believed you, he trusted you to get the two of you out.
Hours later, the big metal door opened, and the same man from earlier stepped inside. He was alone this time, and you felt your heart begin to race, as you ran over your plan in your mind. It was exactly what Simon had said to avoid, it was stupid. But, it was all you could think of to try and get Simon out, and some help. The man walked up to you, running his finger down your jaw. You had noticed the way he looked at you. Though it grossed you out, and made your stomach churn, you had to at least try to get out. Simon couldn’t take another day of beatings, and at that point, if he wasn’t going to make it out, then you wouldn’t either. You would die trying to get the both of you out, and as you let the man caress your face, not fighting back, you knew there was a very good chance of that happening.
The man smirked, thinking you had finally given up, and glanced at Simon. Simon glared back at him, knowing what you were doing. He would play along, though everything in him was screaming that it was a bad idea. “Don’t fuckin’ touch ‘er.” he said, knowing it would push the man to do exactly that.
SA below. Please skip if this will be triggering. It’s not R, but it toes the line a little, and may be triggering for SA survivors. I will add something in bold to show where these next few paragraphs end.
The man smirked, grasping your chin in his hand roughly, keeping his eyes on Simon, as he rubbed his dirty thumb over your bottom lip. “Do you belong to the British scum, Princesa?”
You kept your eyes on Simon, trying to make the man think you did, as you stared back at him apologetically. In a way, you did belong to Simon. Maybe not in the way the man thought, but as far as you were concerned, Simon was just as much yours as you were his. You blinked back tears, not for what you were potentially going to suffer, but for the fact Simon had to sit and watch, and not be able to stop it. The man apparently bought your facade, and laughed, pulled his knife out, and cut your hands free from the chair. He grabbed your hands in one of his, his other tangling in your hair, and pulled you up. You winced, as his hand pulled harshly at your hair, as he forced you against the wall. Tears streamed down your face uncontrollably, but you kept quiet, feeling his one hand leave your hair, and begin to touch you, everywhere. You couldn’t look at Simon, sinking away into your mind, as you let yourself go numb. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Had you ever had a man force himself on you all the way, no. But you had been touched against your will, it was one of the many traumas you carried.
Simon could see it in your eyes. This had happened before, and he felt himself growing angry, as a sudden surge of adrenaline ran through him. He began yelling, threatening the man, no longer playing along with your ridiculous escape plan. He meant every word he said, if he broke out of his bindings, he would make that man suffer. He would suffer far worse than he had made Simon. It wouldn’t be Simon making him pay, no— Ghost would do it. Ghost was the part of Simon that people feared. They didn’t fear Simon Riley, because Simon Riley was only a mere man. Ghost, he was eternal. He was the shadow in the night that couldn’t be killed. He struck fear into his enemies, and was an entity far worse than any nightmare the human mind could conjure up. Ghost was all of Simon Riley’s fear, anger, resentment, and malice, all bottled up into one.
He watched, as the man wrapped a hand around your throat, and foolishly let your hands go, since he thought he had you pinned enough. Simon smirked a little, when he saw you grit your teeth, and just as the man’s hand went to move into your pants, you snapped. Your left hand wrapped around his wrist, while the other reached and grabbed his hand on your throat, grabbed his middle finger, and bent it back. The man yelled, as the bone snapped, and before he could grab you again, your knee had made contact with his groin. The man dropped to the floor, and you wasted no time in taking your booted foot, and connected it roughly with the side of his head, with a kick. The man fell onto his side, holding his crotch, as his jaw hung loose in a sickening way, broken.
SA is over. More violence below though.
You grabbed his knife, cutting him in the back of both his heels, so he wasn’t able to stand, and hurried over to Ghost. You knelt down before him, and hurriedly cut his hands free, before handing him the knife. “Can you stand?” you asked, your eyes wild with adrenaline, as you peered up at him.
He nodded, and let you help him up, the adrenaline coursing through his own body, helping him stand. He gripped the knife tightly in his hand, and stalked over to the man. When the man saw he was free, he began begging for Simon to kill him quickly, saying he would even help you escape, if Simon would have mercy on him, and make it quick. You heard Simon chuckle, and immediately knew that this was Ghost in his real form. He wasn’t Simon, Ghost had totally taken over. You didn’t watch, not wanting to see how brutal and ruthless he was. You could hear enough to know what he was doing. He used one large hand to cover the man’s mouth, pushing down in his broken jaw, as he used his other hand to break bones. It didn’t last long, maybe two minutes at most, and soon, Ghost was handing you the now dead man’s vest. “Put this on. Take the knife too.”
You did as he said, knowing you couldn’t argue with him, not with that wild, bloodthirsty look he had in his eyes. He was ready to kill, with his bare hands, if he had to. The two of you made your way out the room, the knife held tightly in your grip, as you kept your other hand on Simon’s bicep. For a man who had been beaten for three days straight, he was moving with such precision and grace, it shocked you. His footsteps were silent, as the two of you came up behind two men on guard. Simon pointed out the man he wanted you to get, and you nearly rolled your eyes, as you saw he had chosen the smallest out of the two for you, leaving the man that was nearly as big as him, for him to take.
The two of you moved as one, simultaneously grabbing the men. You slit your man’s throat, while Simon wrapped his into a chokehold, and pulled back roughly with his arm. The familiar snap was heard, and you helped Simon move the bodies into a closet. He grabbed one of the mens vest, sliding it on over his bare chest, and grabbed both their guns. He handed you one, while he took the other, and while you weren’t in the open, you both took the time to check your ammunition. “Not much, but hopefully we won’t need ‘em. Only shoot if you have too. They’ll be on us in seconds when they hear the gunfire.”
You nodded, but gave him a confused look, when he handed you a pistol. “What—”
“Just in case. Keep one in the chamber. Don’t let ‘em take you alive.” he ordered you, taking the other man’s pistol, and slid it into the waistband of his pants.
You swallowed hard, understanding the meaning behind his words. You slid the pistol into the waistband of your own pants, before Simon led you out of the closet. You both moved silently through the small building, killing any men who were unfortunate enough to come into your paths. Right when you thought you and Simon would pull it off, loud yells filled the building. Simon cursed, shouldering his rifle, and wrapped an arm tightly around his ribs. “Come on.” he ordered, grabbing your arm with his other hand, as the two of you began to run the best you could through the building. You were met with about eight men, and immediately pressed yourselves to the wall, as shots were fired at you. Simon grit his teeth, grabbing his rifle, and stuck it around the corner, firing blindly at the men who were shooting at you. You couldn’t hear much over all the gunfire, but a fire was lit inside you, as you and Simon took turns covering one another, while the other reloaded. Soon though, both your rifles clicked, as they ran out of ammo. You chucked yours to the floor, as Simon did the same, pulling out your pistol, and gave him a slight nod. He understood what you were saying, and slid his own out of his waistband.
You closed your eyes, the thought of pressing the gun to your temple, and pulling the trigger, scared you. But the thought of being taken alive by these vile men scared you even more. Simon gave you another glance, his hand grasping yours, as you both pressed the guns to your temples. Right as the two of you were about to end it, a familiar voice carried down the hall. “Bravo-1, intel said they’re on this floor!”
You had never been more relieved to hear that Scottish accent you had grown so used to hearing. It meant they were here, your team, your family. You and Simon lowered the guns, and Simon barely peeked out, before yelling out, “Bravo 7-1, we’re here!”
You heard footsteps rush towards you, and Soap called out, “Friendly!” as he rounded the corner. His eyes widened when he saw the two of you, and the shape Simon was in. He nudged his head back, before wrapping an arm around Simon. “Come on, let’s get you guys home.”
The team had taken out everyone in the small compound by the time you made it to the evac. Gaz ran up as he saw Simon, gently wrapping his arm above Soaps, as they helped him into the heli. Price stood, holding out a plain balaclava for Simon, along with shirt. Simon took them both gratefully, and put them on. “Are you hurt?” Price asked you, turning back to Simon when you shook your head. “How hurt are you?” he asked, sitting down across from him, as the heli took off.
“Let’s just say, adrenaline is one hell of a chemical.” Simon drawled out, leaned back, and held his arm tightly around his ribs.
“He..he took all of it. He needs medical, asap, Sir.” you informed Price, who nodded.
“I figured that. We’ll head straight there once we get back to Alejandro’s base.” he said, earning a small nod from Simon. “You two did well. You’re safe now.”
You didn’t reply, nor did Simon, as you clung to his arm. After going through so much mental torture in the last few days, all while barely having any sleep, you couldn’t help but lay your head on Soap’s shoulder, since Simon was so hurt. Still, your hand remained on his arm, the feeling of his scarred skin under your fingers, giving you enough security to fall asleep.
Pretty sure when I first wrote Training with the Ghost, I set myself up for a mini-series haha we’ll see where this goes.
Also, I’m working on the König series. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about it. I just haven’t written for Ghost in a while, and I honestly got a little burnt out on König. Not that I don’t like writing for him, but I sort of ran out of ideas. So, let me get my fill of Ghost, and I promise, I will be updating Schoolyard Crush! Just be patient with me!
I’m officially calling this the Progeny Series. So yeah. Here’s part three.
Part 2
-Picture is from Call of Duty Wiki-
Warnings: language, fluff, that’s it I think
You had worked hard, busted your ass on base and in your unit, and now, four years later, you were finally promoted to Sergeant. It was surreal, having Ghost, or as he preferred when no one was around, Simon, slap that insignia onto your chest. It had been a given that he would always be the one to participate in your ‘pinning-on’ ceremonies, and he wore that privilege like a badge of honor.
Soap had teased him about it the day before you were to be promoted to Sergeant, by saying he felt like he should be the one to pin on your insignia. You swore Simon was ready to jump across the table at him, as he drawled out, “Don’t remember people callin’ her ‘Soap’s Progeny’.”
You had laughed a little, rolling your eyes at Soap, who had jokingly replied back, “Well, I did let her pin me twice, Lt. Think I need some recognition too, Sir.”
Your quiet laughter bloomed into a loud one, when Simon had said back, “She put you on your ass, Johnny, twice. You didn’t let her do anythin’.”
It had been six months since that day, and you had been on a couple small missions since then. Simon and the rest of 141 had just returned from a high profile mission, and you were sitting with Simon in his office, helping him rewrap a bullet wound he had to his shoulder. You weren’t shocked when a lower ranked soldier came to your room, and told you Lieutenant Riley needed you in his office. You had been shocked, however, when the reason he needed you was to help him with the wrapping on his wound.
“Simon, you really need to go to medical.” you mumbled, hearing him grunt out a little, as you tightened the wrapping around his shoulder. “Sorry, just don’t want it to start bleeding again.”
“M’fine.” he simply said, letting you help slide his arm back into the sleeve of his shirt, before he sat back in his chair. You walked around his desk, taking a seat in the chair you had proclaimed as yours, and gave him a worried look. He caught your gaze, shaking his head. “Stop lookin’ at me like that.” he ordered.
You sighed, but nodded, going back to your phone, and scrolled through it to keep your gaze from landing back on Simon. He was so stubborn, more stubborn than anyone you had ever met. You liked that about him, though. He was a challenge, and always had you on your toes every moment you were around him. The two of you sat in silence for a while, you on your phone, while Simon just sat still, lost in his thoughts. Finally, he broke the silence, quietly saying, “Price wants you on the next mission.”
Your heart fluttered, and you laid your phone on the small table Simon had put by your chair, before looking back at him. “What?” you asked, not sure if you had heard him right.
Simon didn’t repeat himself, instead continuing on with the conversation, as if you weren’t sitting there feeling like your heart would pound out of your chest. “He thinks you’re ready for an actual deployment, to be on a real team.”
You took a deep, shaky breath, noticing how angry he sounded when he spoke of you joining them. You felt your heart deflate a little, as you weakly asked, “You don’t want me going, do you?”
Simon heard the defeat in your tone, the devastation that he didn’t want you on the team. It made his heart hurt, hearing how much it affected you that he didn’t agree with Price. “It’s not that….it’s not that I don’t think you’re ready, L/n. I….” he trailed off, his eyes boring into the dark wood of desk, as he battled with himself. Finally, he forced himself to say, “I don’t want you goin’ cause I know what this mission is. We’ll be outnumbered by the enemy, right in the middle of the enemy. You…you mean..a lot to me. And I don’t know if I can handle lettin’ you go, knowin’ what I’ll be sending’ you into.”
His voice was so low, you almost didn’t hear him. You had heard him though. You meant something to Simon. He didn’t want you getting hurt, and didn’t think he could live with himself if something did happen to you. You swallowed hard, tears brimming your eyes, as you suddenly felt needed for the first time in your life. Simon needed you, just as much as you needed him. “Would you be there with me, Sir?” you quietly asked.
Simon nodded. “Of course. Still though.”
You didn’t know what to say, so instead, you just opened your mouth, and let whatever you were thinking flow out. “I…I care about you too, Simon. And, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me since we met. But this is what I wanted, this is why I enlisted in the first place. Isn’t it better that I’m with you and your team, as opposed to some other team that doesn’t give a shit about me? That just sees me as another soldier for them to use?” you asked gently.
Simon thought over your words, suddenly feeling very small, though he was the biggest one in the room. He finally nodded, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Yeah, I know.”
You gave him a small smile, saying back, “I learned from the best. Really, it’s your fault that Price wants me to join.”
You heard Simon huff, and saw him roll his eyes, as he relaxed. “Should’ve let you kept gettin’ your ass whooped.” he quietly joked.
You laughed a little, shooting him a playful glare. “Well, luckily for me, you didn’t. You took a chance on me, Simon. And I’m grateful for that.”
Simon didn’t reply, but you could see the softness in his eyes. He didn’t like showing emotion to anyone else, not even him teammates he had known for many more years than the four he had you. But something about you made him trust you. He felt like he could show a little bit of how he was feeling to you, without risk of judgment or betrayal. Simon was a deeply emotional man, and though he would never admit it, you scared him sometimes.
He didn’t think he would grow attached to you, or he probably wouldn’t have stayed behind when everyone but you left the gym that day. You had peeked his interest the day before in the mess hall, when you spoke of him like he was some national treasure, and not just an object to lust over. He was used to hearing women, and some men, on base talk about all the things they would do to him, and vice versa. But Simon wasn’t a sexual person, not really. Yes, he had done things before when he was younger, but after everything he had been through, he had no want for sex anymore.
Maybe that explained his attraction to you better. He was drawn to you, but not for your physical attributes. No, Simon wanted to know everything about your mind, how you felt about things, your likes and dislikes. There wasn’t a fiber in him that wanted you sexually, or romantically even. He just wanted you—no, needed you. Unbeknownst to Simon, you felt the same way. Yes, from what you could tell, he was an attractive man. He had an ideal physique, a deep, gravely voice, and was more alluring than any other man you had ever been around. But very much like Simon, you had no want for romance, or sexual release. You did wonder in another life, where you hadn’t been through all the hardships you had faced, if you would be able to see the man being someone you were romantically involved with. But, this wasn’t another life, and you had lived through more trauma and heartbreak than any single person ever should have. So really, the what if’s didn’t matter.
At the end of the day, the two of you needed one another. To Simon, you were this beacon of hope that shined a little light into his heart. You were someone to protect, love even, without the fear of betrayal. Simon didn’t know how, but he felt in what little bit of a soul he had left, that you would never betray or leave him. He didn’t know if you loved him, but he did know that he loved you, and he always would, no matter the circumstances of your relationship. It didn’t matter if you found someone you liked, and got married someday. You could have kids of your own, your own family, but Simon knew he would still love you, and be there you however you needed him.
To you, Simon was someone to look up too, and to be proud of you, a figure you had never had in your life before. He made you feel important, like you actually meant something. Every proud look from him, and the rare praises that he would give you when no one else was around, made you feel like you actually had a family for the first time. You felt like you were home, even if that home was in a small office in the middle of the base. You had grown to love Simon deeply. He was a broken man, and though you knew you would never fix him, you at least hoped your friendship brought him a little peace.
You were only eighteen when you first met the man, and after about two years of friendship, you had learned he was twenty-eight at the time of meeting you. Now, you were twenty-two, while Simon had just turned thirty two. You were beginning to find your own place in the world, and even though neither of had a want for romantic or sexual love, you wanted each other in the others life. Simon had ended up giving Price the go ahead to ask you to join them on the next mission, and you of course had happily agreed.
So, once it came time for the mission, you put on all your gear, and met the boys at the helicopter ready to take you to your destination. You sat between Simon and Soap, leaned your head back, and tried to get some sleep on the long flight. Price had noticed your head fall a little, and watched out of the corner of his eye, as Simon gently reached up with a gloved hand, and laid your head softly against his shoulder. You had nuzzled your cheek against him, getting more comfortable in your sleep, before going still.
Price knew what it felt like to love someone like they were yours. He loved all the men of his team like they were sons to him, and though he hadn’t been through the things with you that he had his boys, he cared deeply about you. You didn’t look at him like you did Simon though. No, Price would never truly be that person that you sought out approval from, and that was okay. Because from what he could tell, Simon already was. It warmed the captains heart seeing Simon so attached to someone. Something about you called out to the man, and from the moment Price had caught onto Simon slinking out of his room at 0400 every other day, he knew Simon had finally found someone he could feel somewhat normal with, no matter what way that meant.
Soap and Gaz had made bets that the infamous Ghost would try to get with you. Price had joined in, knowing enough about Simon to know he had no interest in dating, or plans to settle down, at least at that point and time. Needless to say, Price had earned the easiest 200 pounds of his life with that bet. He could tell Simon cared deeply for you, but he knew the man behind the mask better than anyone, even you. If Simon ever let himself be in love, it would take a lot to get to that point. He was fucked up, had been through hell and back, so falling romantically in love with someone would be nearly impossible for the man.
The mission went well, and no one was hurt or injured. You stayed by Simon, watching his back, as he and Soap led you and Gaz through the compound, while Price stayed in the heli, in case air support was needed. You gathered the intel you needed, and soon, all of you were back at base. You had moved into 141’s barracks, which were more private than the ones in the rest of the base. They also had better facilities, a nice common room, kitchen, and even private bathrooms. You felt like you were living in luxury, and swore to yourself you wouldn’t ever take it for granted. With that luxury, came jealousy though. And you quickly realized that the next morning, when you had decided to take a break, and head to the gym.
You were minding your own business, doing deadlifts, which were always your favorite workout. You used your legs in combat more than anything, especially when it came to taking out guys and girls that were far bigger than you. You had left your earbuds in your room, so you instead focused on your breathing, as you watched yourself in the mirror in front of you. A couple of women from your old platoon walked in, and you immediately felt their stares, as they all began stretching for their workouts. They began whispering, but you ignored and tuned them out, focusing on yourself. That is, until Sergeant Owens said your name a little too loud.
“I mean, they’ve moved her in with 141, and even took her on a mission. Like, what else could be going on?” she said a little too loud.
“Maybe she’s just good at her job. It’s not our business to assume things.” said Sergeant Daniels, a woman you had never had a problem with.
You saw out of the corner of your eye, Owens roll her eyes. “Yeah, she’s good at something, alright. Have you noticed her always going into the Lieutenant’s office? I mean, she stays in there, you know?”
A different woman, whose name or rank you didn’t know, laughed at Owens words. “Probably up under the desk, helping Lieutenant Riley work.”
The two woman laughed together, as Daniels kept quiet, and walked away to start her workout. You took a deep breath, finishing your deadlifts, and moved to the punching bag. Their words made you angry, yes, but it was expected. Jealousy made people act that way, so you just took it with a grain of salt, and moved on. You couldn’t ignore it though, when Owens confidently walked up to you, with a sly smile on her lips. “So, L/n, how is it?”
You huffed, and continued punching the bag, grunting out, “How’s what?”
“Being 141’s slag, of course.”
Your movements halted, and you turned to face her. “Excuse me?” you asked, with your eyebrow raised.
“You heard me. What, shagging Lieutenant Riley in his office wasn’t enough, so you just moved into their barracks to shag the whole team?” she asked with a laugh.
At this point, everyone else in the gym had went quiet. Your hands went into fists, as you stared back at Owens, disbelief that she had the nerve to come up and ask you such a thing. “I don’t shag anyone, especially any of the members of 141. They’re my team, so of course I would move into their barracks. Are you really so daft that I have to explain that?”
“I’m not daft, but you must think everyone on base is, if you think people actually believe you earned your spot in 141.” she said back, putting her hand on her hip.
You heard her friend call out, “She did earn it, remember? On her knees.” She earned a few laughs of amusement from some people in the gym, while others just watched, waiting to see if you would put your hands on either of the women or not.
You narrowed your eyes, as you took a step forward, pressing your chest into Owens, who immediately bucked back at you. “You keep my name, along with Lieutenant Riley’s, out your fucking mouth, you hear me?” you warned, nose to nose with her, as your eyes burned with anger.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s goin’ on?” you heard a familiar Scottish accented voice say, and a few seconds later, you felt Soap pulling you back. He wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you in place, as he glanced between you and Owens. “Seriously, what’s goin’ on?” he asked seriously.
Owens gave him a sickly sweet smile, replying back innocently, “Just having a chat with 141’s newest recruit, Sir.”
Soap narrowed his eyes, knowing whatever had been said between the two of you was more than a simple chat. He looked down at you though, seeing the intensity of your eyes, and knew it would be better for both parties of you got you out the gym. “Come on, Lass. We got a debrief in ten minutes.” he lied.
You let him pull you away, as the two of you left the gym. Soap didn’t say anything at first, before cautiously asking, “You wanna talk about it, Lass?”
You shook your head, leaving Soap’s side, as you walked into the barracks, and went straight to your room. Soap sighed, knowing something had been said to upset you. If you didn’t want to talk to him though, he wouldn’t pry. He did know someone you might talk to though, so soon, he found himself in Simon’s office, explaining what little he knew. “I mean, she looked ready to fight her, Lt. Like, really ready to fight her. I didn’t hear the whole thing, but she mentioned somethin’ about keeping yours and her name out Owens mouth.”
Simon nodded, as Soap finished, sighing as he stood from his desk. “I’ll go talk to her. Thanks, Johnny.”
Simon left his office, walking to the barracks, and went straight towards your room. He knocked softly on the door, hearing you call out, “It’s open.”, before he turned the handle, and stepped in. You were laying on your bed, rubbing your eyes, which was something you did when you super stressed or tired. Simon knew you well enough to immediately know that Soap was right, and something had happened in the gym. He shut the door behind him, before walking over to your bed, and swatting your shin gently with his hand. You moved your legs over so he could sit, feeling his large body press against your legs, and the bed dip a little under his weight. “You gonna tell me what happened?” he asked softly, neither of you looking at one another, as you shook your head. “Why not?”
“Because it’s stupid. I’m stupid for reacting the way I did.” you answered, your voice small.
Simon hated when you said things about yourself like that. You were young, but far from stupid. He leaned back against the wall beside your bed, giving you a look. “If it made you want to beat Sergeant Owens to a pulp, I doubt it’s stupid. Now, stop with your whinin’, and tell me what happened.” he ordered, his gaze intense, and you had no choice but to stare back.
You sighed, his gaze too much for you, and you quietly said, “She and her…friends, I guess, came into the gym after me. They started talking and stuff, and I just ignored it. But, when Owens came up to me, I just…I almost lost it. I know I should’ve just left, but…I don’t know. I’m sorry, for almost embarrassing the team, Simon.”
Simon shook his head. “You didn’t. Tell me what she said.”
You sighed, closing your eyes, and shook your head. “Simon, really, it was stupid—”
“Tell me what she said, that’s an order, L/n.” he demanded, his voice deep and gruff.
You kept your eyes closed, as you forced yourself to say, “That I earned my spot on 141 on my knees.”
“What else?” Simon asked, his voice icy cold.
“I got tired of shagging you in your office, so I moved into the barracks to shag the rest of the team. I spend so much time in your office, cause I’m always under the desk, helping you work.” you answered, opening your eyes to look up at him.
Simon was furious, more than furious. But he pushed his anger down, knowing there was no use in getting worked up, since it wouldn’t do anything to help the situation. He let his gaze fall from you, his eyes locking onto the door, as he drawled out, “Well, did you move into our barracks to shag the rest of the team?”
You gave him an incredulous look, shocked he had even asked you that. “What, no! Of course I didn’t, you know that!”
Simon didn’t react to your words, asking this time, “And how many times have I had you under my desk, other than that one time I injured my shoulder, and you bent down to grab a pin I dropped?”
You rolled his eyes, seeing where he was going with his words. “Never.”
He nodded, turning to let his gaze fall back onto you. “Alright then, fuck Owens. And fuck anyone else that wants to believe such things. She’s just mad that you do get to sit in my office. And she’s also mad that you’re here, and she isn’t. Don’t let her get to you, it’s not worth gettin’ reprimanded for.”
You nodded, playing with your fingers in your lap, since you had sat up against the headboard. “Simon, how do you deal with all the stares and whispers? Does it not bother you?” you quietly asked, avoiding his gaze.
Simon shrugged, his eyes going back to the door, studying each twirl in the wood, each crack. “Ya get used to it.” he answered simply.
“So, it doesn’t bother you then?”
“Used too, yeah. I’m older now, though, and I’ve obviously been through more now than I had back then. There’s more important things to worry about than what someone thinks or wants from you.” he answered honestly, his voice soft, like he was lost in thought.
“Can…can I ask you something, kind of personal?” you asked, glancing up at him.
“Don’t know if I’ll answer it, Love. But go ahead.”
You paused for a moment, studying the side of his balaclava, seeing how worn it looked, like he rarely ever took it off, even when he was alone. “Why do you hide your face?”
Simon knew the question was coming eventually. You had known him personally for four years, and had never questioned him on it. He wasn’t mad at your for asking now, or even disappointed. “I have..I have a dark past, L/n. Been betrayed by people I never thought would do it. The mask..it gives me security.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side a little, in confusion. “Have the boys ever seen your face? Like, without the mask at all?”
He nodded softly. “Yeah, once.”
You pursued your lips, not knowing for sure if your next question was too out of line. So far, he hadn’t gotten uncomfortable by your questioning, and you had been dying to ask him your next words for years now. “Do… do you think you’d ever let me see your face? In the future, of course.”
Simon was a little thrown off by your words, not expecting them. You wanted to see his face, and see what was under the mask? He felt..flattered, to know you were curious about what he looked like. “Maybe, yeah. In the future, Love.”
You smiled softly, and nodded, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence.
Okay, I actually felt like finishing this..so yeah. Hope you enjoy xx
Part 2 of Training with the Ghost
Part 1
Ghost x platonic!Reader
-3D Render by the amazingly talented, @loneghostwolf Y’all give them a follow to see their work, cause I could never imagine being talented enough to make the things they do.-
Warnings: language, toxic masculinity, Ghost is more of a big brother/father type, fluff
When you first joined the military, you never went into your basic training with any set expectations. Yes, you figured there would be men and woman you didn’t like, because it is what it is, and there’s always gonna be plenty of people out there that you don’t vibe with. But, you never expected to have a staff sergeant that hated your existence. It didn’t matter how much you had approved in hand to hand, the man could never bring himself to even give you a look of approval. You had put half the men in the squad on their asses since training with Ghost, and still, nothing.
If anything, the better you got, and the more men you pinned or tapped out, Sergeant Wilson just seemed to try to make your day to day life that much harder. He knew you trained with Ghost every other day, from 0400 to 0600. It was about a mile walk from the gym you and the lieutenant trained in, to the bathrooms, that Wilson always ended up making you clean. Latrine duty: it was the bane of your existence at this point. You never got any other jobs; not even laundry, which given Wilson’s obvious distaste for your gender, you would’ve assumed he would’ve already had you doing that by now.
No, Wilson made you clean the barracks bathroom, everyday. Not only did you have to clean it everyday, he had decided that 0700 was giving you to much time between training and your duties as a recruit; so, you had to report for latrine duty at 0610. Yeah, you had ten minutes to make it back from the gym to the barracks, so guess what, you were never able to take your time after two brutal hours of training.
Another thing that Wilson did to show his obvious distaste for you, was his blind eye to the other recruits when it came to you. You hated the men on your squad, most of them anyways. They were cocky, annoying, and oozed toxic masculinity. They thought they were better than you, you were nothing but a joke to them; well, until you tapped or pinned half of them. Then, you were a threat. When you had once slunk into the background, being the one in the squad no one noticed, or even really cared out, you now were all everyone talked about. The men were threatened by you, while the women wanted to be you, and honestly, it was exhausting. Wilson really showed his honest and true colors though, only a few days after your spar with Soap.
You were going into the mess hall for breakfast, fresh out the shower, since you had finally finished cleaning the disgusting bathrooms in your squad’s barracks. People had began watching you, and whispering about how you were the recruit Ghost had taken notice of. People wondered what was so special about you, for the intimidating and dangerous man to practically take you under his wing. Just for the simple fact that Ghost interacted with you, earned you some respect with most of your superiors. The other recruits though, they hated you.
You sat down at a table, rubbing your eyes tiredly, since the training session with Ghost had been a particularly brutal one that morning. You felt a little better after your shower, but still, your arms and legs ached more than they usually did after training. You had fought like hell, determined to finally make Ghost tap, but of course, the man had still bested you. He did however tell you that your form had been perfect, so it wasn’t anything you did wrong that helped him break the hold you had him in; he was just better than you. Cheeky bastard. You took the backhanded compliment with a smile on your face, and a warmth in your heart. You even thanked him, and had earned a rare chuckle of amusement from the man. Ghost didn’t just hand out praises easily (or really at all), so you took whatever kind of praise from him you could get.
Still, you had worked hard for that one little comment, and your body was feeling the aftermath. You forced yourself to eat, only looking up, as Soap took a seat opposite of you. You gave him a kind smile, glad to see him, since you and him had become somewhat friends since your spar.
“Mornin’, Lass. How was trainin’?” Soap asked, opening a bottle of water, and taking a sip.
You laughed a little, holding your arms out to show the black and blue bruises. “Fun. As always.” you joked.
Soap chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, Lt. did a number on ya, din’ he?”
You nodded, taking a bite of your toast, chewing, and swallowing. “Yeah, I can take it though. I’d rather him not hold back then to just go easy on me.”
“Like I’d ever imagine bein’ that nice.” Ghost’s deep voice said from beside you.
You looked up at him, watching as he pulled out the seat beside yours, and sat down. He barely pulled his balaclava up to the top of his lip, and took a sip of his tea. You studied what little bit of his face you could see in amazement, hearing Soap chuckle at your reaction. Ghost gave you a look, and you could tell he had an eyebrow raised. “Can I help you, Private?”
You blushed at being caught staring, hurriedly saying, “I’m sorry. It’s just..ya know, a shock that there’s an actual face under the balaclava, Sir.”
Soap boomed a laugh, while Ghost simply rolled his eyes, but you could tell you had amused him. “Yes, I have a face, L/n.”
“Sorry, Sir.” you mumbled, looking back down at your plate, your cheeks red and hot. Even being around Ghost as much as you had, you still couldn’t help but admire him. You knew him better than any other private in the base, and still, he left you starstruck and honored for even being allowed to look at him.
“S’alright. Don’t apologize, L/n.” Ghost said, his voice barely gentle, as he took another sip of his tea.
The three of you sat together at the table, you and Soap doing most of the small talk, with only the occasional grunt of acknowledgement, or rare input from Ghost. You noticed then that he didn’t like being in the mess hall. He didn’t openly show how uncomfortable he was, but you could tell now that you were closer to him, how tense he was. In the gym, when it was just the two of you, and occasionally Soap, he didn’t have any traces of tenseness to him. His body moved like water, graceful and calm, even when he was trying to beat your ass in a spar (which he always ended up doing). You had never seen him get nervous, or his movements turn jerky and panicked. You had him in a chokehold a few days ago, and even then, he remained as calm as he always was. His composure what made him so dangerous, so absolutely lethal.
You had questioned him on this once, after he had nearly beat the shit out of you during a spar. “How do you do it?” you had asked, staring up at him, your eyes wide with this innocent curiosity.
“Do what?” he asked, looking back down at you.
“You just…you never show fear, or nervousness. Even with other recruits that are your size. You just…you’re always so calm. How do you do it?”
Ghost had stared at you a moment, before he replied back, “Calmness is strength under control. You can be the strongest man in the world, and throw the hardest punches. But when you lose control, you get sloppy, and don’t think clearly. Losin’ control’ll get you killed.”
You had held onto those words, repeating them in your head like a prayer. Losin’ control’ll get you killed. He was right, and you realized very quickly that that’s how Ghost always seemed so stoic and cold. He didn’t let his composure slip, even in high stress situations. You liked the fact that not only had Sergeant Soap MacTavish decided to sit with you at breakfast, but Ghost himself. It made you feel confident, and like you actually belonged. If two of the four members of Task Force 141 felt you worthy enough to sit with, then surely you were right when you signed your name on that dotted line when you had spoken to the recruiter all those months ago.
After breakfast, you met with the rest of your squad at the outdoor training area. It was the day you got your final score on your endurance and abilities, and you had to face the Victory Wall. You were nervous, yeah. But the wise words from Ghost somewhat soothed you. You went through the course, finishing it as one if the top five recruits in the squad. You were proud of yourself, especially when you hadn’t embarrassed yourself scaling down the forty foot wall.
Next, was hand to hand combat. You were feeling pretty confident, even when Sergeant Wilson had made sure to pair you with a man twice your size. You ended up tapping him in about three minutes, and as you turned to walk back in line, you made eye contact with Ghost. He was standing against the wall, his arms crossed, as his dark eyes shined with…pride? Was he proud of you? You gave him a thankful smile, before glancing next to him, and seeing the rest of the team had come to observe Ghost’s prodigy. Captain Price wore an unreadable expression, but it didn’t look like that was necessarily a bad thing. Soap was grinning ear to ear, chuckling at something Sergeant Garrick had said. You took a deep breath, getting back into line, and crossed your hands behind your back.
Once the rest of the recruits had been judged and scored, Wilson addressed the squad, and began calling out scores. Everyone had scored decently well, and all of them had scored high enough to graduate (180 points, at least), until he got to you. “L/n, 147.”
You couldn’t help it when your mouth went slack. 149?! You had finished your 2 mile run in ten in a half minutes, done more pushups and sit ups than some of the men who had passed, and made a man twice your size tap out in three minutes. How in the hell had you scored so low?! You swallowed hard, forcing back tears, as you stared straight ahead at the wall behind Wilson’s head. You didn’t even look up when you heard footsteps come up behind you, and heard Captain Price say, “My Lieutenant and I would like to review her scores, Sergeant.”
You saw Wilson out of the corner of your eye wordlessly hand Captain Price the paper containing your score. You saw Ghost peer over Price’s shoulder, and you could tell he and Price were doing the math in their heads. Price handed the paper to Ghost a few moments later, who crumbled it in his large hands. “How did you score her? Because based off what I saw, not only should she be graduating, but she should be getting a badge for physical fitness, Sergeant.” Price said, with his eyebrow raised.
Wilson didn’t answer. What was he gonna tell him? You obviously had at least deserved to make a 270, if not more. But here the son of a bitch had given you a measly 149. Price scoffed, taking the paper back, and tossed it lazily at Wilson. “L/n, can you retake the test today, or do you need a day?” he asked, glancing at you.
You looked back at him, trying to keep your voice even, as you replied, “I can redo it, Sir.”
Price nodded, looking back at Wilson. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re gonna come with us, and we’re gonna let her retake that test, alright? Because obviously, you need to pay more attention to your recruit, yeah?”
Wilson’s jaw went taught, and he stiffly nodded. He knew what he had done, and he knew Ghost would be sure he paid for it if he didn’t right it. “Yes, Sir.”
Price nodded, before nudging towards you with his head. “Come on, L/n. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Task Force 141 watched you complete your assessment, and you gave your all, knowing they were studying your every move. It was terrifying, the infamous 141 team watching you like a hawk. Wilson was terrified too, knowing he had majorly fucked up, in trying to sabotage your chances for graduation, for whatever reason. You sparred with Soap, who pushed you to fight with everything in you, and show Wilson that you did truly belong, and he was wrong about you. You ended up making Soap tap with a triangle choke, and you learned fairly quickly during all the long weeks of hard training, your legs were your greatest asset. You had ending up scoring 293 out of 300 possible points.
Ghost wasn’t usually one who showed his emotions, at least not around people. He had known you for months tho, and even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he had grown fond of you. You were a bright eyed recruit, who wanted to be great, and were willing to put in as much effort as it took to get what you wanted. You reminded him of himself when he was your age, more and more everyday. He had smiled under his balaclava, giving your shoulder a proud squeeze, when you finally graduated from training a couple days later.
You didn’t have any family there with you, which had intrigued Ghost a little. He was curious where your parents were, and why they hadn’t shown up to watch their daughter earn her badges. He was there though, watching as you took your place in line, officially a soldier.
You and Ghost remained close, even after graduating. You stayed at base a lot, like he did, and found yourself sitting with him in his office when you didn’t have anything else to do. Ghost enjoyed your company, since you didn’t pry, or grow relentless on the days he just didn’t feel like talking. You would sit in the chair that he kept in the corner of his office, playing on your phone, as he sat in silence and did his paperwork. You never tried to get him to talk, always letting him start the conversations in his office, so he didn’t grow annoyed at your presence.
You had learned small things about Ghost. First, he liked to take a shot of bourbon when no one was looking, and he was stressed out. Of course, being the good friend you were, you had snuck him a bottle on base when he had run out of his stash he kept hidden in his office, earning a threat from the man, but obviously, he hadn’t actually carried it out. Another thing, was that Ghost was a lonely man. He hadn’t told you any details, which you hadn’t minded, but you had put two and two together that he didn’t have any family waiting for him at home. He stayed on base as much as he could, rarely ever going to wherever home was for him. This only drew you closer to him, since you too had no family waiting up for you. In a way, Ghost had somewhat become your family, along with the rest of his teammates.
This was solidified, when it came time for your ‘pinning-on’ ceremony. You were ranking up, and it was tradition to have someone of importance to you (usually a family member, spouse, or friend) remove your old insignia, and replace it with the new one. You were freaking out, because you knew you had no family to do it, and obviously no spouse….and as far as friends went….well, you knew if you asked them, Soap, Gaz, or even Price would happily do it. But a part if you didn’t want to ask them…Ghost was the only one you really wanted to replace your insignia for you.
You felt stupid for even thinking it. I mean, yeah, you considered him as a friend, but you didn’t really know if he looked at you as that close of a friend. What if you were just an acquaintance to him, and nothing more? When Soap walked into the gym the day before your ceremony, he immediately knew something was troubling you. You were hitting the punching bag with all your might, your knuckles bruised, and sweat pouring down your face. He walked up to you, grabbed the punching bag, and halted your movements. “Alright, spill it. What’s got ya all worked up?”
You sighed, unwrapped your hands, and threw the tape into a nearby trash can. Soap handed you your water bottle, and you sat on the bench, catching your breath. “I don’t know who to ask to replace my insignia.” you finally answered, staring up at him.
Soap sighed, sitting down on the floor in front of you, and propped his arms up on his knees. “Well, ya know any of us would be happy to do it. Hell, I’ll do it if ya want me to, or don’t have anyone else too.”
You sighed again, taking a sip of water, before looking down at your lap. “If I…if I ask you something, do you swear you won’t get the wrong idea, or tell?” you mumbled, fumbling with your fingers.
Soap narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Yeah, I swear. What is it, L/n?”
You swallowed hard, not meeting his eyes, as you asked, “Do you think…do you think it would be stupid to ask Ghost? Or like, do you even think he would?”
Soap chuckled, smiling at you, and shook his head. “No, I don’t think it would be stupid, Lass. Ghost…Ghost likes ya, he cares about ya, and I think he would honored to replace your old insignia for ya.”
You finally looked up at Soap, your eyes shining with hope. “So..he thinks of me as like, an actual friend?”
Soap laughed, and nodded. “Of course! Hell, he spends more time ya than he does his own team. Look, the reason you even caught Lt’s eye is because ya admired him. We heard that conversation in the mess hall, with those girls grilling you about ‘im. He liked that you wanted to learn from him, not just..sit and fantasize about ‘im. That’s why he took you under his wing like he did, because he saw somethin’ in you. Go ask him to replace the insignia for you, I promise you, he might not show it, but he’d be honored that you chose him.”
You smiled, and nodded, rolling your eyes, as Soap stood, and forced you up from the bench. It didn’t take long to make it to Ghost’s office, and next thing you knew, you were knocking on his door.
“Come in.” you heard him say, and you gently opened the door, peeking inside.
“Hey, is it okay if I come in, Sir?” you quietly asked, knowing he was probably enjoying the quiet of his office.
“Yes, it’s fine.” Ghost answered, not looking up from his computer.
You stepped in, and took a seat in the chair you regularly occupied in his office. You waited patiently for Ghost to acknowledge you, knowing whenever he was done doing what he was doing, he would address you. After a few minutes, he turned the screen off on the computer, and sat back in his chair. His dark eyes met yours from behind his balaclava, and he calmly asked, “Did you need anythin’, or just bored?”
You swallowed hard, sitting up straighter in your seat, and cleared your throat. “I umm… I wanted to ask you… a favor, if that was okay?” Your voice was small, your nerves pricking, as Ghost studied you.
You were freaking out about whatever it was you wanted to ask him, that much was obvious. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, before nodding. “Yeah, s’alright. What is it, L/n?”
You looked down at your hands, which were held tightly together in your lap. “My ‘pinning-on’ ceremony is tomorrow at 0900, Sir. And I…I don’t have anyone to replace my insignia. I just…if it was okay with you, I just wanted to ask if you might would do it for me?” you asked quietly, not meeting his eyes. You could feel him staring at you, his gaze was heavy, and intense. You started to regret asking, thinking you had overstepped a line in your blooming friendship with him.
Ghost on the other hand, well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he felt. Scratch that—he knew what he felt, but he didn’t know how to handle it. At your words, a warm feeling had come over him. Not in a romantic or sensual sense. It was more like he felt…wanted. “Thought you might would’ve asked Soap, or Gaz.” he said, digging around a little, to see if his his feelings were correct.
You finally looked up at him, your eyes shining with this adoration for him. You weren’t romantically adoring of him, he knew that. But it was like in your eyes, he hung the stars and moon either way. “I thought about it, Sir. But…you took me under your wing, when you didn’t have too. You took time from your mornings to train me, and if it weren’t for you, and your team, I never would’ve even been allowed to graduate. You taught me more in the three months I trained with you, then Sergeant Wilson taught me the entire length of my training…if you’re comfortable with it, Sir, it would really mean a lot to me if you would be the one to pin on my new insignia.”
Ghost stared back at you, and you couldn’t read his eyes. He finally took a deep, surprisingly shaky breath, before he mumbled back, “Yeah, I’ll pin on your insignia, Private.”
You smiled, and nodded, giving him a thankful look. “Thank you, Ghost—”
“Simon.” he interrupted, not looking at you.
Your eyes widened, and you dropped your gaze too, the shock that he had given you his first name, stunned you. After you composed yourself, you looked back up at him, smiling fondly. “Thank you, Simon.”
The next day, you stood dressed in your full uniform, your hands at your side, as it was your turn to have your old insignia ripped away, and the new one replace it. Simon stood in front of you, towering over you, as he reached out, and pulled the old patch from the center of your chest. You could see him smirk under the balaclava, as he pinned your new rank, Private First Class. You drew your lips into a hard line, knowing what came next. Soap snorted a laugh, as you readied yourself for Simon to shove you in the middle of the chest, like was tradition. Instead, the harsh shove back didn’t come to your chest. He reached out, pushing your shoulder, the same way he had that first day he started training you, when he knocked you on your ass. You smiled, laughing a little, as pride shine through Simon’s eyes. “Way to go, My Lil’ Progeny.” he said, where only you could hear him.
“Thank you, Sir.” you said back, your eyes shining back at him, full of respect for the man, who you held so much admiration for.
Okay, I rarely ever write platonic fics, but I just came up with this, and had to write it. So yeah, I really hope you all enjoy. Ghost is more of a brotherly/fatherly type figure in this fic, so yeah, sorry if you aren’t into that. This ended up being way longer than I thought it would be, and I still want to add more. So umm, I’m gonna cut it off where I have it, and if anyone wants a part 2, I’ll make it…either that, or I might just make a part 2 cause I feel like it. So yeah. Enjoy 🖤🖤
Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x platonic!Reader
Part 2
Training with the Ghost
Warnings: language, inappropriate talk, violence, age gap between reader and Ghost (don’t know if this even matters, cause it’s a platonic relationship, but yeah)
-Some of this is unedited-
Being a woman in the military was hard. It was sometimes unfair, the men around you were sometimes condescending, and looked down on you for simply being a woman. It was the hardest thing you had ever done. Your time in training had never been easy. You always had to work harder than everyone else to prove yourself, since you were the only woman in your squad. Your staff sergeant was a dick, and always had been since the day he laid eyes on you. Your lieutenant was different however.
He was the most known man around base, though no one you knew seemed to even know his first name. He was either referred to as Lieutenant Riley, or as he seemed to prefer, Ghost. You had never spoken to the man, but you held a heavy respect for him regardless, both for the way he commanded his platoon of trainees, and how he carried himself. He didn’t take shit from anyone, you had seen that first hand when a young man from a different squad had stepped out of line towards Ghost.
Ghost had been overseeing the hand to hand combat training one day, keeping a sharp eye on each recruit, as he silently judged everyone’s performance. One of the recruits had gotten a little too confident when he won his spar, so Ghost had felt the need to point out his mistakes, and correct them. Of course, the recruit didn’t take kindly to it, and had made a rather inappropriate and rude comment about needing to ‘show the lieutenant that perhaps he wasn’t the best on base anymore’, or something along those lines. Of course, being the ever observant man he was, Ghost had overheard him.
What had earned your respect for Ghost, was the fact that he didn’t get mad and scream at him, or throw his rank in the recruits face, like the staff sergeant from your platoon probably would have. He didn’t have too. Instead, he said, ‘Alright.”, took his jacket off, and walked onto the sparing mat. It didn’t take long, and the recruit was flat on his back, a few bruises littering his face and arms.
Unlike most of the women in the platoon (and most of the base), you weren’t actually attracted to the lieutenant. I mean, yeah, you definitely saw the appeal, with his looming height, deep voice, and the balaclava’s he always wore. You felt more of an admiration for Ghost than you did attraction though. You wanted him to see you as the strong willed, hard working woman you were. Someone he would be proud to be on the battlefield beside, and would trust not to fuck things up. Not someone he wanted in his bed, like majority of the woman on base. When the other women in the platoon would gather together and gossip, while watching Ghost eat, walk, shoot his rifle, or really even breathe, you kept to yourself. You thought it was sickening, hearing them talk about all the things they would do to him, and all the things they wanted him to do to them. If it was a woman in Ghost’s shoes, and all the men were huddled around, gawking at her, and openly trying to flirt with her every chance they got, the very women who were doing exactly that to their lieutenant, would say how gross the men were.
Unbeknownst to you, the first time Ghost had ever really noticed you, had been in the mess hall. He was sitting with Soap, and had barely pulled his balaclava up over his top lip, just enough he could drink a cup of tea without wetting the bottom of his balaclava. Of course, he heard the recruits from the table across from him, all women, begin to whisper and stare. It didn’t bother him, but it didn’t exactly excite him either. He didn’t give two shits what anyone thought, and he sure as hell didn’t care if some recruit wanted to fuck him or not. Soap didn’t say anything, but he heard it too, but he knew better than to bring it up to Ghost, who he knew would much rather be anywhere but the crowded mess hall anyways.
It wasn’t until one of the woman turned to you, asking a little too loudly, “L/n, what do you think? Average or above?”
Of course, she was referring to Ghost’s dick. It didn’t take a genius to understand that. You nearly choked on your coffee, giving her a wide look, as the women giggled at your reaction. “Excuse me?” you asked, sitting your mug down.
She rolled her eyes, giving you a smirk. “Come on, you’re not a preteen. You know what I mean.”
You gave her an incredulous look, wiping your mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I mean, does it matter? It’s not really my business how big anything is.” you answered back.
Ghost’s ears, along with Soap’s, perked up at your words. The woman scoffed, leaning forward towards you. “Seriously? Have you never wondered about it? I mean, seriously, look at the guy. You aren’t attracted to him at all?”
You sighed, poking around at your eggs with your fork. “I didn’t say he wasn’t attractive, I mean, I get the appeal, yeah. But like, it’s really not my job to sit and fantasize about my lieutenant, ya know? I just think it’s kind of gross.” you answered honestly.
Soap glanced at Ghost, raising his eyebrow. The woman continued her argument, saying, “Oh my god, you make it sound like it’s a crime to think about someone you think is hot. Like, what the hell, L/n?”
You rolled your eyes this time, sitting your fork back down, and looked at her. “I’m not saying it a crime or anything, or that you guys shouldn’t do it necessarily. I’m just giving my honest opinion, cause you asked.”
A different woman, a brunette you couldn’t stand since the day you met her, scoffed. “Oh shut up, L/n. Stop acting like a fucking Saint. You stare at him all the time when he’s doing demonstrations.”
You raised your eyebrows, laughing at just how ridiculous she sounded talking to you. By that time, the conversation had gained attention from people nearby, and you felt eyes on you, waiting for your answer. You didn’t know however, that one of those pairs of eyes belonged to the vary man who was being discussed. “Uhh, yeah, I study Lieutenant Riley during demonstrations, because he’s the best one at them. While your all sitting there creamin’ your pants, I’m actually trying to learn something from someone who has way more experience than me. I mean, shit, you guys don’t think it’s badass that out of every platoon, we’re the ones who have a member of 141 teaching us stuff? Like, that’s a fuckin’ honor, and all you can do is sit around and wonder how big the man’s dick is?” you asked, giving the two women who had decided to try and make you out to be an idiot, looks. “You know what, if the two of you stopped trying to eye fuck him so much, and actually learn from him, you might not be so low in the platoon. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me? I think it’s something to think about, though.” And with that, you grabbed your tray, and stood from your seat.
The two women gave you hateful glares as you walked away, and threw your trash into the closest bin. You laid your tray in the stack it went in, before leaving the mess hall, and heading to the gym. Soap had chuckled, nudging Ghost’s foot with his. “Shit, Lt. Looks like you actually have a real admirer.”
Ghost didn’t reply, only slid his balaclava back over his lips, before standing from his seat, and left the mess hall. A few days passed, and you were sparring with a guy from your squad. Of course, he put you on your ass, and of course, your staff sergeant hadn’t done anything to show you how to keep from being put on your ass by a man twice your size. When everyone else left, you sat down in the middle of the mat, running your hands through your messy hair, and trying your absolute best not to lose it. Nope, you would cry in the showers, alone, tonight. Not in the middle of the training gym, where anyone could walk in, and have yet another reason to tell you that you didn’t belong. You didn’t know someone else had stayed behind, until you heard Ghost drawl out behind you. “Get up.”
You jumped, turned and looked at him, before scrambling to your feet. “Lieutenant, I’m so—”
“Don’t apologize, just pay attention.” he said, his tone low, but not as cold as you had heard it before.
You nodded, saying, “Yes, Sir.”, and stood up straight, looking at him expectantly.
He nodded once, before nudging his head at you. “Get in your ready position.”
You did as he said, putting your arms up in front of you, like you were getting ready to fight. You waited expectantly, wondering what Ghost was gonna do. Suddenly, he reached out with one hand, and shoved your shoulder, hard. Of course, you lost your footing, and he put you on your ass with one hand. You could’ve cried, really, you wanted too. If a fucking hole appeared in the floor underneath you, you wouldn’t have hesitated to crawl into it, and just die. Ghost didn’t make any noises, or even give you a look of pity. He simply said, “Get back up.”
You pulled yourself up wordlessly, not meeting his eyes.
“Stop lockin’ your knees, you’re losin’ balance. Relax a little, don’ be so tense. Again.”
You got back into the position, this time relaxing your body more, like Ghost said. You waited, this time preparing yourself, as he reached out again, and shoved you. It moved you back, of course, but you didn’t lose your footing that time. Ghost gave you an approving nod, before he got into his own fighting stance. “Hit me.”
Your eyes widened, and you stuttered out, “Excuse me?”
You heard him sigh, and saw his dark eyes roll, as he spat back, “I didn’t stutter. Stop actin’ like I’m some celebrity, and fuckin’ hit me, Private.”
You swallowed hard, and went to hit him, only to wind right back up on your ass. You huffed as your back hit the mat, knocking the breath out of you a little. Once you caught your breath, you breathed out, “Permission to speak frankly, Sir?”
“Granted.”
“This is why I didn’t wanna hit you, Sir.” you said, sitting up.
You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle, but as quick as you thought you heard it, he was already saying, “Up, come on.”
You stood, looking up at him, and said, “Sir, I think we both know that you’re gonna put me on my ass every time.”
He nodded, agreeing with you. “Yeah, I will. I’m bigger, stronger, more experienced. Of course you’re gonna wind up on your ass, Private.”
You stared back at him, your mouth slack, before you asked, “Umm, so, what do I do, Lieutenant? To…not be put on my ass?”
You saw a flash of amusement cross his eyes, as he replied, “You’re predictable. You go for the most obvious attack. If you get into a fight with someone bigger than you and try to overpower them, or go for an obvious attack, you’re gonna lose. Every time. Use what you have, your weight, height. Stop relyin’ on your fists for everythin’.”
You nodded, letting him show you in more depth what he was saying. You were smaller than all of the men in the platoon, and especially your squad, so he showed you how to dodge, and use things other than your fists, to take down someone his size, or really, anyone that was bigger than you. By the time you had finished training with Ghost, it was time for dinner, and you were sweaty, sore, and tired. Of course, Ghost had barely broke a sweat, and looked like he was only stopping due to the fact you were about ready to collapse. “Alright, that’s all today. Meet me back in here tomorrow at 0700.”
“Umm, Sergeant Wilson has me on Latrine duty at 0700, Sir.” you said, wiping your brow with the back of your arm.
“Alright, 0400 then. Should give you plenty of time to get back and get it done.” he replied easily.
You gave him a tight lipped smile, before nodding. “Yes, Sir. Should I let Sergeant Wilson know?” you forced out, hoping he couldn’t hear the dread of getting up so early in your voice.
Ghost did, he heard it loud and clear. He didn’t acknowledge it though, and shook his head. “No, I’ll tell him. Get some rest, Private.”
You nodded, replying back, “Yes, Sir, Thank you.”
He nodded once, dismissing you, and you hurried out the training gym. You were honored that Ghost was even taking the time to train you, but 0400? Really? Sighing, you skipped dinner, going straight to the showers, before climbing on your bunk, and going to sleep. The next morning, you woke up dazed, before cursing, and grabbed your watch. 0349 am. “Shit!” you whispered, hurriedly jumping up, and throwing on your clothes. You made your bed the quickest you ever had, before running out the barracks. It took fifteen minutes to get to the training gym walking, but you sprinted through the base, only slowing when you saw a superior, which wasn’t very often, since it was five minutes till four in the morning. You practically burst into the training gym, heaving for breath, as you saw Ghost looking down at his watch, not looking up, as you dragged yourself towards him. “Two minutes late, L/n.” he chastised, finally looking down at you.
You nodded, knowing better than to try and make an excuse. “I apologize, Lieutenant. It won’t happen again, Sir.”
“Better not. Catch your breath, an go ahead and stretch, we won’t be stoppin’ till 0600.” he said, taking off his jacket, and tossing it in the floor by the mat.
You nodded, placing your hands on the top of your head, and took deep breaths in your nose, and released them out your mouth. You did as he said, and began to stretch as you caught your breath, not wanting to pull a muscle half way through training, and make him regret offering to train you in the first place.
“Did you sprint here?” Ghost asked, and it looked like he may have had an eyebrow raised, from the way his balaclava bunched up by his right eyebrow.
“Yes, Sir.” you said, putting your hands down, as your breathing had slowed almost back to normal.
“What time did you leave the barracks?”
“Umm, five minutes till, I believe, Sir.”
You heard Ghost barely chuckle, shaking his head, before he went back to the stoic man you were used too. “Alright, get in your stance. I showed you what to do yesterday, now I want you to actually do it.”
You nodded, getting down and ready, as Ghost did the same. The whole time you were sparring with him, you could tell he was holding back. He was letting you get hits in, but even then, you never could pin him, or tap him out. He seemed to be pushing you to keep going, testing your stamina, to see how far you could go before faltering. Ghost wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was impressed. You had sprinted to the gym, with less than five minutes to make it there, and were only two minutes late. You had to have been hauling ass, which meant you felt bad about being late, and didn’t want to keep him waiting. Any other time, he would’ve said fuck it. If the recruit couldn’t even be on time, why waste his time? But he saw something in you, a fire that reminded him of himself when he was younger. You wanted to be great, and you seemed willing to put in the extra effort to get there. Hell, you had sprinted a literal mile to the gym, knowing you were gonna be late.
Ghost pushed you to your limit, only giving you a minute or two between spars to catch your breath, before he was on you again. You had bruises covering your arms from blocking, your legs ached from pushing yourself forward against him, but the one thing that wasn’t bruised was your knuckles. Ghost had noticed you were holding back, and stopped you, grabbing one of your hands, and inspecting your perfectly plain knuckles. “I want these bruised when you leave, you hear me? Stop pullin’ your punches. You don’t think I can take a punch from you?” he accused, trying to get under your skin, and bring that fire out that he knew you had.
“Yes, Sir, I think you can.” you answered, still as polite as ever.
Ghost kept pushing, shoving your hand down from his, and got into your face a little. “These other recruits don’t give a shit about you. Sergeant Wilson doesn’t give a shit about you. To him, you’re just waitin’ to be another statistic. Is that what your are, L/n? Another recruit who thought they could make it?”
“No, Sir.” you replied, his words getting to you a little. It was only because you knew he was right. Wilson didn’t think you could make it, and the men in your squad just thought of you as an easy win.
Ghost’s eyes bore into yours, as he gritted out, “Stop pullin’ your punches then. You give it your all, or none. Otherwise, you’ll just continue being the weak lil’ girl, who doesn’t belong in their eyes. Prove ‘em, wrong.” he ordered, backing up, and getting back into his fighting stance. “Go.”
This time, you gave Ghost your all. Your didn’t pull your punches, jabs, kicks, or anything. You let him have it all, and you felt him fight back a little harder too. You were no where near his level of expertise, but the fact he had actually broken a bit of sweat by the time 0600 rolled around, filled you with pride. You had made Ghost sweat, in a spar. Hell yeah. Before the two of you left, Ghost had told you that he had informed Wilson that you would be meeting with him at 0400 every other day, for training. Yes, that included Sunday’s. If Ghost was gonna train you, he was really going to train you, and he was sure to tell you that the next time you were late for training, you would regret ever catching his eye in the first place.
You knew he wasn’t bluffing. Just because you were a woman didn’t mean he would go easy on you in the slightest. Really though, you didn’t want him to go easy on you. You wanted the full training experience with Ghost, no matter how bruised up you ended up, or how sore your limbs were. He was a dangerous man, and he knew what he was doing on and off the battlefield. You wanted to be just like him, if not greater.
So, for the next few weeks, you met every other day with Ghost, being sure to arrive to the gym before 0400, and were ready to begin training on the dot. You had gotten good over the few weeks you had trained with him, and eventually, the both of you were pouring sweat by the time 0600 rolled around. You had learned how Ghost fought, being able to anticipate what he was going to throw at you. You still hadn’t managed to pin him, or much less tap him. But still, you were giving him a run for his money, which in a way was refreshing to Ghost. He looked forward to the training, feeling better throughout the day, after the two of you had a session. He was proud of you, a feeling he hadn’t really felt in a long time towards anyone other than his teammates.
You arrived one morning before Ghost, deciding to go ahead and get your stretching done, and maybe do a pre-workout on the treadmill. You had jogged half a mile when the gym doors opened, and you heard Ghost enter. What you hadn’t expected, was to see Sergeant MacTavish beside him. The Scotsman looked miserable, his mohawk disheveled, like he had been forced out of bed before he had wanted to be. He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and you pursed your lips to keep from giggling in amusement. “Fuck, Lt. You owe me, ya know?” he mumbled, stopping to stand by Ghost, as he dropped his hand, giving you a smile as his gaze fell on you. “So this is your prodigy then?” he asked, giving you a one over.
“Private L/n, Sergeant. It’s nice to meet you.” you said, with a small smile.
“Call me Soap, L/n. I don’t do the titles and shite.” he replied back, chuckling. “So, you’re gettin’ too good for Lt. to handle?” he asked teasingly.
You blushed at his words, giving Ghost a look, refusing to answer. Ghost rolled his eyes, saying, “She’s gotten used to me, not too good. You’re gonna spar with Johnny today, while I observe. Give me a chance to study what you need to work on, and you’ll get some experience sparring someone you won’t be able to predict as well.” he informed you.
You nodded, “Yes, Sir. Ready when you are Soap.” you said, stepping back, so he could take his place on the mat.
He rolled up the sleeves to his shirt, and took his place on the opposite side of the mat. You both got ready, and Ghost told you to go. At first, it took everything in you not to let Soap overpower you. He didn’t fight the same way Ghost did, which threw you off. He also didn’t hold back like Ghost, giving you his all. He managed to get you pinned to the mat, both his hands holding your arms flat beside your head, and you gritted your teeth as you heard Ghost begin counting down, about to call it.
Though this was a very…demoralizing position, Ghost had really pushed Soap to pin you down like that at some point, to see if you could get out of it. A lot of the men in your squad liked pinning you like that, since it was a show of power, and just degraded you even more when they did. Ghost had never pinned you like that during your sessions with him, mostly because he himself didn’t want to put you in that type of position. Soap didn’t mind though, not if it was something that would help you in dealing with the childish and immature boys in your squad.
Ghost had however, explained to you in detail how to get out of the position. You took a deep breath, planting your feet firmly against the mat, before bucking your hips up as hard as you could. Though Soap was bigger than you, and physically stronger, your hips jarred against him, and sent him forward. Ghost had of course forgot to tell him that he had told you what to do to break that hold, so the next thing Soap new, his face was in the mat. His hands instinctively left your wrists and went to mat, and you immediately moved your hands away, and ‘hugged the tree’ aka, Soap, like Ghost had told you. You pressed your face tightly into Soap’s chest, so he didn’t sit up, and just slide his arm between his body and your throat. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, as you quickly pushed yourself with your feet, and shimmied your way higher up his body. Soap grunted, and pushed himself up on his arms, unable to stop you from hooking your arm under his, since he was still recovering from face planting into the mat.
Using your opposite side from the arm you had pinned, you pushed up, pivoting your body weight into his, and rolled him onto his back. Once you had him on his back, you took a mount position, keeping your hips away from Soaps, so it made it harder to buck you off. He reached up with his arm, and praying that it actually worked, you wrapped both arms around it, using your momentum on top of him to pull his arm out to the side with your body. Your ankles immediately locked around his other arm, as you thrusted your hips upwards, extending his arm back the best you could. You could feel him pulling you up off the mat a little, as he fought to get his arm free from your hold, but you arched your back, practically hugging his arm, and digging your fingers into his skin, determined not to let go. Your thighs burned, as you felt Soap trying to get his other arm free from your legs, and if he did, you knew you we’re screwed. All he would have to do is manage to get his hands together, and he would roll you up, where he could stand. You’d be slammed into the mat, and it would hurt like a bitch.
You grunted, tightening your grip with your legs on his other arm, your ankles locking in an iron grip, as you extended his arm outwards more. Finally, you heard Soap’s hand smack the mat, before you let go. You untangled your limbs from him, breathing heavy, as you felt Soap sit up, his own breaths heavy, as the two of you had fought like hell to either pin or submit each other. It hit you all at once that you had pinned Soap MacTavish. He was older than you buy a good few years, was bigger, and was even a member of Task Force 141. Holy shit, I made a member of 141 tap.
“Shite.” you heard Soap curse, before he chuckled. “Well, guess you deserved that tap. That was a pretty dirty pin, huh, Lass?”
You laughed a little, going limp on the mat, as you replied back, “Yeah, it was.”
“Sorry, wanted to see if you could get out of it. You did good. Ghost didn’t tell me he’d told you what to do. Was expectin’ I’d need ta show ya.” Soap said, shooting a glare at Ghost, who stared at you with an impressed look.
You laughed, closing your eyes, as tku reveled in the victory. Ghost walked up a moment later, extending his hand to you, which you took, and let him pull you up. Soap had took his shirt off, which had been sticking to him with sweat, and wiped his face off. Ghost gave you a nod, saying, “You did good. Watch your footin’ though, that’s how he got you on your back.”
You nodded, accepting a bottle of water and a towel from Soap. “Yes, Sir. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Ghost nodded once more, before dismissing you for the day, after telling you he would see you tomorrow in squad training. You bid him and Soap bye, leaving the gym, and Soap took a seat on the mat after you left. He took another large sip of water, propping his arms up on his knees, as he looked up at Ghost. “Ya know, I didn’t hold back. She’s a hell of lass, Lt.”
“I know. She’s gotten better since we first started. Couldn’t even get out of a chokehold the first week.” Ghost said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Soap smiled, giving Ghost a look. “You care about her, don’t ya?” he asked gently, knowing feelings were a sensitive thing for Ghost. The man didn’t reply, and that told Soap all he needed to know. He stood, giving Ghost a proud look. “She looks up to ya, Lt. S’alright to admit you see somethin’ in her, no matter what that somethin’ is.”
“I know, Johnny.” he replied, not saying anything else after.
Soap nodded, leaving the gym, and leaving Ghost alone with his thoughts.
Summary: You learn some surprising things about Bob at the end of a date.
Warnings: oral (f receiving), subtle Dom/sub tones, Bob being pussy drunk, language, takes place before TGM
Robert Floyd was, without a doubt, the sweetest man you had ever met.
He refused to let you open the door, whether it be to restaurants or the car. He insisted on walking on the outer section of the sidewalk, closest to the streets. He came into your classroom after school to help you with laminating and cutting out math games for your students.
When he gently kissed you goodnight, his hands would softly cup your neck, his thumbs absentmindedly stroking your jawline, nose brushing against yours.
It was a gentleness that you didn’t think still existed. You certainly didn't expect to find it in Lemoore of all places.
But sometimes your Robby was considerate almost to a fault.
At the end of the first date, you invited him in for coffee. Your hope was that he would feel more comfortable kissing you if you were inside and not out in the hallway of your apartment.
But Bob just gave you that endearing, slightly crooked smile as he shook his head. "If I drink coffee now, I'll be up all night," he told you.
You couldn't even be mad because you knew he was being genuine. It also helped that he asked when he could see you next immediately after.
On the second date, you stood on the tips of your toes so you could kiss his cheek. The sight of his glasses fogging up, combined with his face turning bright red melted your heart. You had hoped the action would be enough for him to realize you wanted him.
Instead, he kissed your cheek while he stammered out his question of when he would get to see you again. It was such a sweet sight that you couldn't be mad, though disappointment still ran through your body when you walked into your apartment by yourself.
By the fourth date, you had enough of quick pecks on the cheeks, and opted to grab Bob by the collar, pulling his lips onto yours. He was a great kisser, once he got over the initial shock of your action and his brain fully processed what was happening.
Kissing you back made things simultaneously better and worse. The way he would cup your face, gently tilting your head up to deepen the kiss still made your head dizzy. Goosebumps flared your skin when you thought about how it felt when one of his large hands was firmly planted on your waist, pulling you closer to him.
You wanted him to take you against that door right then and there.
But Robby was a gentleman so all he did was kiss you. Which left you no choice but to shove a hand in between your legs later on that night as you imagined how his hands would feel on other parts of your body.
You wouldn’t call yourself a horndog, but the WSO made it really difficult to think straight when he would casually put his hand on your knee, his fingers caressing the soft skin of your thigh.
So here you were, towards the end of your seventh date with Bob, who was walking you back to your apartment.
You had been trying to send him less subtle messages this time. You wore a sundress, hoping the exposed skin might provoke him to be more daring.
He definitely tried to get glimpses of your chest. But every time you looked at him, he'd just blush and stammer how pretty you looked tonight. Which while sweet, did nothing to soothe the ache between your legs.
Bob's breath would hitch everytime you pressed your body against his. A faint scarlet flush had crept up his neck to his face as soon as he saw you in that dress and it had stayed there for the whole date.
"I had fun tonight," you told him as your fingers grazed over the collar of his shirt. Briefly, your fingers brushed against the skin underneath.
"I did too. Always do when I'm with ya," He said, the drawl you adored coming out. Bob could read the phone book to you and you swear you'd be enthralled.
Your touch was electric. Bob tried to focus on those bright beautiful eyes of yours, but he couldn't help but wander to your full lips. He tried looking away in an attempt to be respectful, but his eyes instead turned to the straps of your dress, tied together by a soft, velvet fabric. If he undid those knots, the dress would fall down, revealing your-
He had to get out of here.
Bob was crazy about you -in fact- he was ninety-five percent sure he wanted to marry you. Therefore, the last thing he wanted to do was come off too strong and scare you away, or worse, disrespect you.
From the corner of your eyes, you saw him beginning to take a step back.
No. Not tonight.
You stepped forward, your eyes straight on him. You made your way towards Bob with such focus and precision, it caught him off guard (a huge feat considering his job). It was how you were able to press your lips against his.
His kisses were sweet yet intoxicating, like honeyed wine on a summer afternoon. Normally you weren't one to overindulge, but tonight, you wanted all of him.
Your hands tangled themselves into his hair, gripping onto his dark blonde locks in a desperate attempt to keep his lips pressed to yours. The action caused you to lightly tug onto his hair. What could best be described as a soft moan fell from Bob's lips.
Your eyes opened, shocked that such an erotic noise came from the man you were kissing.
It also sent heat straight to your core.
Bob's bright blue eyes flew open, realizing that the noise he had prayed was just in his head, actually came out of his mouth.
He broke away, his neck and face bright red. You were positive if you undid the first three buttons of his shirt, his chest would be red too.
"I-I should go-"
"Don't you fucking dare." You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him back in. With great care, you took several steps backwards, pulling him in so you were both inside your apartment.
It was your display of how desperate you were for him that made Bob realize that perhaps he didn't have to go home and get himself off tonight with his hand.
That was what gave him the confidence to keep his lips pressed to yours. You closed the door (locking it without looking was much harder than you originally thought), your hands returning to his soft hair.
You pushed him towards the couch. Bob, finally getting the message, sat down, spreading his long legs.
His lips were gone from yours for only a minute, as you quickly straddled his waist, your thighs on the outer side of his.
Everything about him was addicting. The scent of sage flooded your nostrils. His jeans felt rough on your bare thighs, creating fiction when you shifted forwards.
Bob used his hands to tilt your head back, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. Your hands were everywhere now- his hair, his shoulders, his chest.
It felt like you couldn't get close to him, despite being literally on top of the WSO. His hands found themselves on your hips, gripping the fabric of your dress, causing the hem to rise further up your thighs.
You leaned your whole body forward, your hips grinding downward. The movement, combined with the friction your clothed core received from his jeans was absolute heaven. Before you could even think, a desperate mo an fell from your lips as your hips repeated the action again.
Bob snaked a hand up your neck, grabbing onto the ponytail your hair was done up in. A sharp tug pulled you back, forcing you to face him.
His normally well-kept hair was ruffled, a loose curl falling over his forehead. A prominent red flush had overtaken his face, his lips glistening from the sloppy kisses you were just exchanging. Glasses askew, those deep blue eyes were so overblown, they looked near black.
It was the hottest sight you had ever seen.
"What do you want? Tell me." His voice was deep, gruff. You were surprised with how commanding he was as he demanded an answer from you.
Bob tightened the grip he had in your hair, pulling you out of your thoughts, "C'mon darlin', tell me what ya need."
"You, Robby. I want you."
Sweet Jesus, you were going to be the death of him.
The next thing you knew, Bob's arms were wrapped around your waist and you were no longer on the couch. You were no longer on the ground, the bespectacled lieutenant holding you.
"Where's your bedroom? I'm doing this properly, not on a couch."
Despite your head spinning and your whole body flushed with heat, you managed to explain that your bedroom was down the hall and to the left.
He followed your directions with precision, or at least he tried to. Your lips had found their way to his neck, peppering the skin with kisses.
It was when your teeth sank into that sweet spot, right underneath his jawline, that he stopped in the hallway, a guttural groan falling from his lips as it took everything in Bob to not come in his pants right then and there.
Your back was now pressed against the cool wall. As his lips attached themselves to your neck, you couldn't help but throw your head back, gasps falling from your lips as his teeth grazed your hot, sensitive skin.
His mouth moved down to your collarbone and the tops of your breasts. His teeth were sinking into your flesh now, sure to leave marks that would be visible by tomorrow morning.
"Tryin' to be a gentleman and you make it so fuckin' hard with that mouth of yours. Can't even get ya to a bed so I can take ya properly." You moaned at his words, it being the first time you had heard Bob curse. His accent was thicker, his words sending heat all over your body, but particularly the spot in between your legs.
"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you do that," he said before his tongue lapped over a bite mark he had left on your neck.
"R-Robby, b-bed," you whimpered, your hips frantically bucking up in a desperate attempt to feel some friction.
Somehow, someway, the two of you made it into your bedroom. The back of your head softly touched your pillow, your body now splayed on your bed. You looked up, your eyes meeting those sapphire blues of Bob's as he hovered over you.
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He chuckled.
The neat ponytail you had out your hair in at the beginning of the night was barely holding things together, fallen pieces framing your sweet face. Your lip gloss was now smeared, thanks to him. He could see the bite marks he had left along your neck and collarbone.
You looked good, marked up as his.
One of the ribbons tied as a strap of your dress had loosen, causing the fabric to fall a bit from your chest, exposing your breasts even more. The hem of your dress had bunched up towards your hips, exposing the lacey soft blue panties that Bob definitely saw earlier in the evening when you bent over to pick something up and he hadn't been able to get the sight out of his head until now.
Now he had the whole view.
Your head was spinning. You hadn't expected this side from Bob. Quite honestly, you had prepared yourself that if things ever got physical between you two, you would be taking the reins.
You were wrong. Oh so very wrong. You had never been happier to be more wrong in your life.
"C-can I taste you?" His voice was soft, despite his hands gripping your thighs. He looked unsure, almost worried that somehow, he would go too far if he didn't ask.
It made your heart melt. It also made you want to give this man as many children as he wanted.
You nodded your head, "P-please Robby. Want your mouth on me."
Bob groaned, "You're gonna be the fucking death of me, I swear."
A giggle escaped your lips, though it was short lived as Bob's fingers quickly found the waistline of your panties, tugging them down and off your legs.
"Y-you're really pretty," He stammered upon seeing the sight of you laid out for him.
You smiled, a hand reaching up to stroke his cheek. Bob gave you that sweet, soft smile that made you melt, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.
Because even though he had been dying to get his hands on you since your third date, he was never going to pass up an opportunity to kiss you.
The moment was sweet. You didn't realize how much you needed it until you felt the tension leave your body as his lips brushed against yours.
Bob broke away, giving you that sweet, slightly crooked smile before situating himself between your legs.
You opened your mouth, ready to give more words of encouragement to make him feel comfortable.
That wasn't necessary, as Bob planted his face in between your thighs with zero hesitation.
A curse fell from your lips, not that you could help it. That was impossible with how his tongue felt, licking stripes from your entrance to your clit.
Bob's mouth continued to surprise you tonight. First by showing he actually knew how to curse. Second (and more importantly), his mouth was very talented.
Upon his tongue lapping at your entrance, the tip of his nose brushing up against your clit, your hands latched onto his sun kissed hair.
You tasted fucking divine and somewhere, in the back of Bob's brain, he was wondering if you'd prefer an engagement ring with a gold band or silver band.
But then you tugged on his hair as you continued to let out another pretty moan. Thoughts of ring bands left his head as his lips attached themselves to your clit, alternating between sucking and kitten kicks.
You gasped upon feeling a thick finger enter you. You looked down, your eyes meeting Bob's.
What a sight that was. His lips still latched onto your clit, but stilled. Those beautiful blue eyes on you, watching, waiting for your next movement to help him decide what to do next.
"Please don't stop Robby."
"You know what that does, callin' me that. Don't ya?" The smirk forming on his face was new to you. It reeked of confidence, something you loved to see.
Your grin said it all.
Which is why Bob didn't feel bad when he added a second finger to you. In fact, that's why he smirked upon seeing your back arch as you fell apart on his fingers and tongue.
It was ridiculous, truly ridiculous, how fast he was able to find that sweet spot that had you falling apart. His fingers felt so good you couldn't stop the moans coming out of your mouth.
Not that Bob minded. In fact, with the pretty sounds you were making, combined with your addicting taste, he couldn't help but grind his hips into the mattress, looking for some type of relief.
You saw the action (he wasn't trying to hide it) and it caused your hips to buck up towards his face because holy shit, how was this man real?
"You taste so good," He groaned into you, sending vibrations all the way up your spine.
"A-and you say m-my mouth is killer," you managed to grit out.
Bob chuckled, sending more vibrations throughout your body.
You felt a third finger thrust against your walls. The grip you had on his hair was so tight, you were surprised he hadn't complained about it (maybe he liked it, anything was fair game at this point).
His name fell from your lips over and over again, like a prayer. Not that there was anything holy about what his mouth and fingers were doing. As if he could sense the coil in your lower stomach tightening, he placed his other hand on your abdomen, applying pressure.
You lunged forward, as much as you could with your thighs wrapped around his head as the coil snapped. It hit you like a strong wave, causing you to come up and crash down over and over again.
His fingers and tongue kept working through your orgasm, prolonging your high. The lewd sounds of your wetness against his fingers filled your bedroom.
"Fuck you taste amazing," you heard him say, his hips frantically rutting into your mattress.
"C-can I keep going?" He asked, his fingers still curling up against that sweet spot.
You groaned at the sight of his chin and lips covered in your slit, hoping he could see you nodding enthusiastically despite his glasses having fallen further down the bridge of his nose.
Bob's mouth went right back to your soaked core, lapping up your slick. Every time his nose bumped against your sensitive clit, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body.
His fingers were meticulous, curling against that spot over and over again with precision. You didn't expect his skills as a WSO to transfer into the bedroom, but it made sense. He had to be focused, whether it was on other jets or (in this case) making you come again.
What didn't make sense was how the guy who was so quiet and shy that his glasses fogged up when you kissed him on the cheek was now making you see stars.
All it took was for you to look down, your half-closed eyes meeting those deep blue, for you to come undone again. This one felt more intense, most likely due to the groans Bob was pressing against your slicked core.
You threw your head back, eyes closing your eyes as you rode through your current orgasm. When was the last time someone had made you come twice by eating you out? Has that ever happened?
You attempted to catch your breath as your brain processed what just happened.
Robert Floyd may be shy, but not in the bedroom. A pretty important lesson.
You were also pretty sure it would be the biggest mistake to not marry this guy, but you could think about that later.
Upon feeling long fingers gently stroked your cheek, you opened your eyes to find Bob's face now inches away from yours.
"D-did…..did you enjoy that?" Bob asked, a faint red flush creeping from his neck to his face.
Nodding your head, you smiled, "I think it's time I return the favor."
"Oh you don't, I mean not that I don't want you to, it's just, I uh, I-I-" as Bob rambled you looked down, noticing the dark, wet-looking spot that had formed at the crotch of his jeans. Realization hit you, causing you to clench your thighs.
He came from eating you out.
Yup, you were marrying this man. You'd be the biggest idiot not to.
"S-sorry," Bob stammered, his eyes looking everywhere but you.
Using your elbows, you propped yourself up, "Hey. It's fine. It's actually more than fine, it's really fucking hot."
His eyes widened, his demeanor resembling more of the shy, nervous man you first met in the library on that fateful day.
A hand flew to the back of his neck, "I just, I meant it, you sound really pretty when you make those noises. Not that you don't sound pretty when you don't make them. You're always pretty and you do taste amazing, whatever diet you're on-not that you should change for me- what I meant-"
You giggled as your hands cupped Bob's face, pulling him in for a kiss. Partly to throw him a rope, but mostly because you couldn't believe this sweet man was all yours.
He shifted his weight, his chest now directly on yours, deepening the kiss. As his hands found themselves on your waist, a familiar ache began between your thighs.
"It's just a shame," you broke away from his lips, "I like to think I have a pretty talented mouth too and was hoping to show you."
Bob's eyes darkened, his breathing now heavy.
"Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be ready. Plus that's enough time to get you out of this dress," He said, his tone serious.
Robert Floyd was full of surprises. But was that so bad?
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