#ghost cod angst

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

[biancawritings]

I DON'T NEED YOUR CLOSURE — ANGST

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY x FEM!READER

The letter sat on the table, its edges curled from time and weight. You hadn’t expected it—Simon wasn’t the kind to leave words behind. He acted, stayed loyal in silence, but this time, he’d left something written. His handwriting was rough, deliberate, like him.

You didn’t open it right away. It wasn’t fear, just a reluctance to stir up memories you’d worked hard to bury. Simon was unforgettable, even when he was gone. His presence lingered, filling spaces he’d left empty. What could he have said in writing that he hadn’t already shown in his quiet strength or rare vulnerability?

There had been good times, though they felt far away now. His sharp humor, his rare but grounding laugh, the way he steadied chaos around him. You’d seen him at his most guarded and in the fleeting moments he let his walls down. Like when he patched up your arm without a word, just steady hands and a muttered warning to hold still. Or the night he sat with you in silence after a loss, his presence saying what words couldn’t.

When you finally read the letter, the room was dark, lit only by a streetlamp’s faint glow. It was short, blunt, and honest—pure Simon. He wrote about choices that had shaped and broken him, and maybe you too. He didn’t ask for forgiveness; that wasn’t his way. But in the rawness of his words, there was a trace of something deeper, an effort to leave you with a piece of himself.

The memories came rushing back—good, quiet, haunting. His handwriting, messy and uneven, felt like a ghost, familiar but distant. Simon wasn’t coming back; that much was clear. Maybe the letter was for you, or maybe it was his way of unburdening himself. Either way, it left you carrying the weight.

You folded the letter and set it aside. The grief lingered, but so did the gratitude—for the lessons he left behind. Simon Riley was a storm—unforgiving, relentless, but storms don’t apologize for the wreckage they leave. When they’re gone, they leave quiet. And in that quiet, you’d found your way forward.

Life moves on, with or without him. And so would you.

[notagayman]

Simon's social worker made a habit of her welfare checks.

The boys always had stains on their clothes even if the laundry baskets were full, there was odd clumps in their hair, the place stunk of cigarette ash and as she'd walk around the kids would walk in front. Simon would try to block parts of the wall, and whenever she did ask him to move he'd hesitate. Sometimes the kid would even go out of his way to talk her into going to another room.

Even though the kids were scrubbed clean and the house was shuffled into something that at least resembled neat, she knew there was something wrong.

At every visit the boys mother would be missing from the house. If she ever asked about her absence Mrs Riley was either 'shopping' or 'going for a walk', one time she'd only been rewarded with a shrug. The only time she'd seen the woman was after she arrived early to the visit, and Mrs Riley was stood outside the house and smoking. She'd soon scarpered.

Mr Riley was an entirely separate issue. She rarely spoke to him, she never had felt compelled to. He hovered at every single visit, lingering to the side wherever she walked in the house. Occasionally, he'd go over to remind the kids that they had homework, or to go brush their teeth, that they had some crisps they hadn't finished eating. Once or twice he'd pulled Simon away into the hallway, gripping his back in a way that made her throat ache. He always, as she'd written down many times, did this when they were in the middle of speaking.

The house itself always felt.. rushed. Clothes were swept underneath the sofa, drawers and tables constantly shuffled with vases or pictures facing out. Most of the time she'd find holes or scratches behind whatever object was shoved in front.

The worst she'd managed to find was two small handprints behind a hastily stuck drawing. She'd never had such a sudden sink in her stomach before.

[annaphoenix1994]

In the mood to write some platonic angst involving Ghost...

[etherealizzie]

the 141 who have their first christmas without john mactavish. the one man who would drag them out of bed for christmas eve if they were lucky to be home.

john mactavish would make a habit of making hot chocolate and spiking it, for shits and giggles.

and when the 141 are deployed, johnny still tries to make the day feel just a little special.

now that they were home and down one soldier, it felt different. their hot chocolate wasn’t as sweet, their lights didn’t twinkle like they used to, the fact there were only gifts for three instead of four. it didn’t feel like christmas.

john mactavish who made christmas feel like how the songs sound, who made snowfall look magical, who made the holiday something special for the lads.

and now, it was just another day without johnny.

[etherealizzie]

alt ending #2 to this post <3 i really felt like writing some fuck shit today !!!

.

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the door creaked open and there you were, a smile on your face. it was a sadder smile and you hoped he couldn’t tell.

“leaving today, birdie?” the lieutenant asked as you nodded.

“aye sir. back to barracks.” and you tried to smile, fake a huge fucking grin to make it seem like you weren’t aching, that it didn’t hurt to have to walk away again.

you turned to look at your room, it was empty, barren, and well. clean to the best of your ability. you averted your body back to simon, who was.. standing a little too still.

“wanna walk, sir?” you offered, extending your hand out. fuck, please take it, please take it. just this fucking once.

you could see him smile under the balaclava before taking your hand. “sure, bird. let’s walk you out, yeah?” he mumbled.

it was more quiet than usual. the silence. when you made it to the door, you turned to see simon.. just staring.

silence.

until you broke it. “i’m gonna miss you, sir.” you blurted out. the lieutenant very clearly recoiled either from shock or disgust, you couldn’t tell.

suddenly, you felt cloth against your forehead, strangely resembling a kiss. simon pulled you into a hug and rested his chin on your head. he.. just gave you a forehead kiss.

a flush tainted your cheeks before you looked up. simon smiled down at you. “the same goes for me.” he mumbled too quietly. enough for you to hear though and fuck, you practically beamed.

maybe you felt brave, maybe it was goodbye but you pressed your lips to his balaclava. brief, chaste, simple. you pulled away, feeling the tears begin to well.

you didn’t want him to see you cry.

“it was a pleasure being with you, sir.” you stated, walking towards the vehicle waiting for you.

as simon watched you walk over, he couldn’t help but feel.. a sense of longing.

you kissed him.

but.. you still got away.

for the final time.

and you felt the same.

lieutenant ghost watched the medic board the vehicle. he knew he shouldn’t care, it was all a part of the military. people come and go.

but simon riley wanted nothing more than you.

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that’s the end of this little drabble :) thank you for reading !!

[etherealizzie]

jealousy is a filthy thing.

the feeling was foreign to simon for a while, he never had the need to be jealous. no one was important enough for shit like that. not when attachments were frequently lost to bullet wounds and bleeding out on the concrete.

but the first time simon riley felt jealousy was when he watched the smile on johnny's face grace someone else. the scotsman was singing praises to some rookie, his voice quickly turning into white noise.

the lieutenant felt it in his chest first. an ache, a disgusting feeling that weighed him down. it felt like tar in his lungs and that association— that feeling just felt so fucking wrong. simon felt his shoulders tense, his heart beat quicker than he'd like, and his fists balled, like he was ready to swing.

that filthy feeling oozed down to his stomach, it made simon feel like. like he was about to fucking throw up, like his guts were going to be splayed all over the floor because someone decided to put their heart out for mactavish.

it made simon feel filthy, it felt wrong.

simon pressed a glove hand to his mouth, feelimg his stomach churn. he felt sick, simon felt disgusting as he turned on his heels to exit the room. combat boots hit the floor that shifted from a walk to a steady sprint into the bathroom.

his gloved hands slammed against the metal door of the bathroom, a loud thud echoing throughout the thankfully empty bathroom. simon felt sick— why did he feel sick?

the lieutenant found himself hunched over the toilet bowl, spilling his fucking guts and whatever dinner he had. spit it out, simon, spit it the fuck out.

but no matter how much simon threw up, how much he forced out of him, that weight never fucking disappeared. it was heavy, not even fluctuating. he could feel the sag in his lungs, the tension in between breaths, and how he felt sick at the thought of johnny having.. someone else.

simon hated jealousy. for a man who's murdered and seen enemies' bodies splattered beyond recognition, nothing was nastier than that green feeling, of being inadequate, of being replaceable.

he never wants to feel that shit weighing him down again.