(Arranged marriage to duke john price except it means you married four instead of one 👁️👁️)
Your marriage to Duke Price is one out of necessity: you need a husband before high society begins rumoring you to be a barren woman and too old to be married off, and Duke Price needs a wife who is able to take on Duchess duties of his duchies.
You do not expect love, though you suppose it’d be a nice bonus. You are merely glad that Duke Price is a reasonable handsome man, and he informs you on your wedding night that he will not force himself on you, and there is no need to immediately begin attemtping for an heir.
You take admirably to your new duties, have been raised practically for this purpose though the head butler Kyle is wonderful in helping you as well- actually all the servants have been wonderful towards you. You have regular dinners with John, though they are a bit stilted but at least Chef Johnny’s food is good enough you can easily forget the tense atmosphere. You can tell your husband is hiding something- you are sometimes barred from going to his office to him, certain rooms are not allowed for you, and you are not allowed anywhere near the letters addressed to him- but as long as it isn’t hurting you, why should you bother him? So you never ask, and he seems happy enough that you don’t.
Until you accidentally stumble upon him and Duke Riley exchanging tongues. Very heatedly, hands grasping and tugging on each other’s clothes and Duke Riley sat on your husband’s desk.
It’s hot.
What’s not so hot is the way they both look at you when they realize you are there. You stutter, face a red so fierce it’d put a furnace to shame, and bolt out of the room despite hearing John call your name.
And you also skip out on the dinners for now, pretending you are sick with the help of your maids and their makeup skills.
But suddenly, it’s like your eyes have been opened. It’s not just Duke Riley who seems to hold a part of your husband’s heart; the one time you gather enough courage to maybe go speak with John and address the situation, you see Kyle stumbling out all disheveled and flushed, though he has a very satisfied air around him. He freezes when he sees you, and your jaw drops.
“My lady-“
“I- I’ll just- I’m taking a walk! Alone!”
You go to the kitchens instead, hoping that Johnny would have something delicious you can eat. Maybe something cold enough to wash away the blush on your cheeks.
Johnny is weirdly silent, however, even as he whips up chocolate mousse for you. His silence is not normal, it feels… almost guilty…
You sighs, take in a deep breath, and gather your dress. “Johnny… are you too…-?”
“Aye, m’lady. But-“
You can’t take it anymore. You leave the kitchens, and go straight back to your bedroom to bury your face in your bed. It’s not as if you are upset! It’s just- a rather befuddling situation?
Two nights later, it’s John himself who comes to you. You had assumed it was one of your maids returning with a new jar of oil for your nightly hair routine, but it’s your husband. You are glad it’s winter, and you aren’t simply in a thin nightgown.
“Wife.” He says, voice steady yet strained.
“John.”
You can’t call him husband. You’ve spent the last two days thinking and you were… rather sad. You were in the way of whatever they had (you saw Kyle and Johnny kissing, Johnny specifically sending food addressed to Duke Riley), weren’t you?
John sighs, sitting down on the settee while you remain on your vanity. After a moment of awkward silence, he opens his eyes and looks at you. “…what do you want to remain silent about this?”
You blink, raising an eyebrow. “…huh?”
John’s fists clench. “How much do you want in return for your silence?”
Frowning, you set your brush down and fully turn to him even if you feel exposed despite your thicker nightgown. “Is this about your… partners?” You say the word delicately, then shake your head. “I want nothing, John. If you are worried about me starting anything, I won’t. I just… hope this doesn’t mean you will divorce me?”
Being a divorced woman might as well be a death sentence on its own.
He looks at you, shocked into silence, and you quickly explain; his relationships have nothing to do with you and you aren’t a petty woman, who are you to come between what he and they have? You only hope this won’t take away the protection this marriage gave you.
That night, thus, you and John reach an agreement you are sure both of you are satisfied with.
Except, months later, John is no longer satisfied.
With the ice broken between the two of you. The dinners have become so much more… relaxing and comfortable, far less than they had been. No secrecy was needed when you were around anymore, and you only giggle and look away, feigning innocence when they share tender kisses between one another… and the less polite kisses.
John can’t remain satisfied with this arrangement. You are such a sweet thing, now that he’s become to know you far better. He can see the way his men are looking at you now, something between fondness and hunger and want; Kyle helps you far more often now, despite your insistence that you can do it yourself. Even when you do it yourself, he stays by you and ensures you are comfortable.
And he joins your evening walks, arms looped as the two of you speak, laughing and giggling.
It’s similar to your late night chats with Johnny, where he plies your full of sweets and desserts until even your dreams are full of sweeter kisses you are sure will never be for you. Johnny, who cooks your favorites on hard days and who you heard from Kyle is even more serious about only having the best of the best in vegetables and meats and seasonings.
And Duke Riley… for all his stoicism, he is gentle with you. Even when he’d stared at you with doubt and mistrust, no doubt believing you to be lying to John and simply waiting for the shoe to drop and for you to ruin them. Yet it never happens, and now, during the galas you attend all dolled up on John’s arm and ignoring all murmurs about still having no children, you even dance with him and giggle at his terribly dry jokes, even share a few of your own with him.
Steadily, slowly, obliviously, John has watched each of his men fall for you. This, obviously, made you theirs. It made you his, more and more than you already were.
It’s why your current request is making him clench his glass in his hand, with Kyle looking on in displeasure as well, giving him subtle glances.
“-So that’s why I was asking, John,” you remain sweetly oblivious, adorned in a pretty dress Simon had gotten for you recently. “He will not spread any rumors, I’ll personally make sure of that-”
Your cheeks darken then, and you glance away. “I- I am… merely a bit- unsatisfied, if you understand my point. And the stable man is loyal to you, he wouldn’t say anything.”
It’s clear he needs to keep a better watch over you. Where and when did you even interact with his stable boy, Graves? Though he focused on your words.
Unsatisfied.
Well, he can’t have that, can he? You’ve done your wifely duties so admirably, it’s about time he took care of you as well… and maybe dealt with the baseless barren rumors as well. A baby would keep you nice and content and focused on them alone, wouldn’t it?
Summary: He never told anyone your name, not even his team. But when Ghost is forced to list every loved one for evacuation, the secret he’s guarded most is revealed.
The briefing room smelled faintly of oil and stale coffee.
Rain hit the windows in soft, rhythmic taps, a dull echo to the silence that hung over Taskforce 141.
The last mission had gone wrong, terribly wrong.
They were all back now, bruised, burnt out, and carrying the weight of lives lost.
Ghost stood near the back, arms crossed, mask on, eyes fixed on the table rather than the woman at the front of the room.
Their supervisor, Commander Hale, didn’t waste time.
Her tone was professional, the kind of calm that came after chaos.
“You did what you could,” she said, scanning each of them in turn. “The situation was unpredictable. But now, we plan again. You’ll have a few days to rest while intelligence recalibrates. Until then, we are moving into full security lockdown.”
Soap, sitting forward in his chair, frowned.
“Lockdown? We’ve only just got back. Can’t exactly rest if we’re trapped in here.”
Hale gave him a look that shut him up instantly.
“This isn’t optional, Sergeant. Until we confirm that the operation isn’t compromised, no one comes or goes. Every soldier, every family member, every civilian connected to this team will be accounted for.”
That pulled the room to a halt. Even Price’s brows drew together.
Gaz was the first to speak.
“Every family member?”
“Yes,” Hale said. “We’ll be retrieving all immediate family or loved ones and bringing them here to the secure compound. Names will remain confidential. You’ll each submit one list, privately, by the end of the day.”
Soap gave a low whistle.
“That’s a lot of paperwork for one bloody mess.”
“Paperwork keeps people alive,” Hale replied shortly.
The meeting went on, outlining security measures and temporary restrictions. Ghost barely listened.
He stood motionless, staring at the single sheet of paper placed in front of him.
Name of family member or significant other for extraction.
He could almost hear Price’s pen scratching quietly beside him. Soap mutters something under his breath. Gaz sighed as he folded his arms.
But Ghost’s hand didn’t move. Not yet.
No one in this room knew about you. Not one.
For four years, he had kept you tucked safely behind a wall of silence. It was easier that way.
Better for you, better for him. His life was fire and gunpowder. Yours was peace.
He had built that distance carefully, one secret at a time.
“Ghost.”
Price’s voice pulled him back. Everyone else was already getting up, chairs scraping against the floor.
“You good, son?” Price asked.
Ghost nodded once.
“Fine.”
Price studied him for a moment but didn’t push.
“Right. Don’t take too long filling that in. Hale’ll have our heads if we miss the deadline.”
Ghost didn’t answer.
He waited until the others had left, until the room was empty, quiet but for the soft hum of the ceiling lights. Then he reached for the pen.
He hesitated, the nib hovering above the page. His heart beat slow and heavy, a rhythm he had long learned to ignore.
He wrote your name. Carefully. Each letter is neat.
It felt strange, seeing it there, printed in ink on a military form.
Simon Riley had never written your name in any official capacity. Not in reports, not in files, not even on his own records. You existed in a place separate from this world, the one place that was still his to protect.
He signed the form and folded it once.
When he dropped it off at Hale’s office, she barely looked up.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. You’ll be notified when extraction is confirmed.”
He nodded, left the room, and walked straight to the mess.
Soap and Gaz were already there, trading jokes over half-empty plates. Price sat at the far end, a cup of tea steaming in his hands.
Soap looked up as Ghost walked in.
“Took your time, big man. What, couldn’t decide who to put down? Your pet goldfish?”
Gaz laughed, shaking his head.
“Leave him be, Johnny. Maybe he’s got no one.”
Soap smirked.
“That true, Ghost? No one special?”
Ghost didn’t look at them.
“Something like that.”
Price raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
They ate in relative silence after that. Soap and Gaz’s chatter faded to a murmur as Ghost’s thoughts drifted far from the base, far from the mission, far from this damp grey building.
He saw you instead.
The way you smiled when you cooked breakfast, the way you hummed to the radio when you thought he wasn’t listening, the way you always made him promise to come home.
You had no idea what was coming.
And if everything went right, you never would.
But now, with your name written down in black ink and sitting on Hale’s desk, there was no taking it back.
You were part of this, whether he liked it or not.
---
The knock came just after midnight.
You were half asleep on the sofa, an old film playing on TV, you barely paid attention to.
The sound startled you.
You blinked, sat up, and frowned. No one ever knocked at this hour.
When it came again, louder this time, you felt a chill settle in your stomach.
You got up slowly, crossing the small living room, your hand hovering over the handle.
“Who is it?” you called, your voice uncertain.
There was a pause, then a man’s voice, firm but not aggressive.
“Ma’am, Sergeant Taylor, British Armed Forces. Please open the door.”
You froze. British Armed Forces. The words hit like a stone.
Simon’s world, not yours.
You unlocked the door but only cracked it open. The man on the other side was tall, dressed in black fatigues, another soldier behind him holding a folder and a torch. Rain streaked down their helmets.
“Mrs Riley?” the first one asked.
Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t heard that name spoken aloud in months, not since Simon’s last call.
“Yes,” you said carefully.
“I’m afraid we have orders to relocate you to a secure facility for your safety. You’ll need to come with us immediately.”
“Relocate me?” You shook your head, gripping the edge of the door. “What are you talking about? Is Simon alright?”
The second soldier lowered his gaze slightly.
“We’re not at liberty to discuss operational details, ma’am. All we can say is that this is precautionary. Your husband requested it personally.”
The words made your breath catch.
“Simon did?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’ll need to pack a bag. Essentials only. We’ll handle the rest.”
You hesitated, fear and confusion twisting together in your chest.
Still, you nodded and moved to grab a rucksack, stuffing in clothes, a photo from the mantle, and the ring Simon had left you when he deployed.
The soldiers waited silently by the door.
When you stepped outside, the cold rain hit your face.
A vehicle was waiting at the kerb, engine running, lights dimmed. You climbed in, heart hammering, your mind a whirl of questions.
The drive was long and quiet. You tried to ask where you were going, but they didn’t answer.
By the time you arrived, dawn was a faint grey line on the horizon.
The facility looked nothing like what you imagined.
Not some bunker or base, but a sprawling compound of reinforced concrete and steel fences. Armed guards stood at every gate.
They led you inside, down long white corridors that smelled faintly of antiseptic. You passed other civilians, mostly women and a few men, all looking as lost as you felt.
A woman in uniform met you halfway.
Her badge read Dr Lane, Civilian Relations Officer.
She smiled politely, but her tone was rehearsed.
“Mrs Riley, welcome. You’ve been brought here for your safety. Please follow me, and we’ll get you settled.”
You followed her through the maze of corridors.
“What is this place?” you asked quietly.
“Secure civilian housing,” she said. “All loved ones of Taskforce personnel are being gathered here until the operation concludes.”
Your throat tightened.
“Taskforce… you mean 141?”
Dr Lane looked at you sharply but didn’t answer. That was enough of an answer on its own.
You were brought to a small room, clean but bare. A bed, a desk, a bathroom through a narrow door.
“Meals are delivered three times a day,” she said. “You’ll be free to walk the designated civilian areas once orientation is complete. You may not discuss your personal connections with anyone, and under no circumstances may you approach Taskforce personnel if you see them. This is for everyone’s safety.”
“I can’t even speak to my husband?”
Her smile faltered slightly.
“Not until clearance is given. I’m sorry.”
You nodded. You knew this was serious.
When she left, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. The quiet was unbearable.
You had spent years learning to live with Simon’s absences, the waiting, the silence. But this was different.
Now, you were close enough to feel his presence in the air, yet not allowed to see him.
Hours passed before you decided to walk. The corridors stretched endlessly, each turn identical to the last. Eventually, you came to a junction and realised you had no idea where you were.
You were retracing your steps when you turned a corner and collided with someone solid.
“Bloody hell,” a voice exclaimed.
Strong Scottish accent.
You stumbled back, muttering an apology, but before you could slip away, you looked up and saw him, Soap, you remembered hearing that name once, in a hushed story Simon had told you long ago.
He blinked in surprise, then grinned.
“No harm done, lass. You alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” you said quickly, ducking your head. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
Gaz appeared beside him, amused. “You lost?”
“I was just trying to find my room,” you said softly.
Before either could answer, another figure stepped into view. Tall, broad, masked.
Ghost.
Your breath caught, heart lurching painfully.
You looked at him only for a moment before lowering your gaze and brushing past, remembering what you’d been told.
No contact.
Soap frowned as you left.
“Friendly bunch they’ve got here, eh?”
“Poor thing looks terrified.” Gaz shrugged.
Ghost said nothing. But his eyes followed you until you turned the corner and disappeared.
Later, in the dim light of the barracks, Price approached him quietly.
“You alright, son? You looked like you’d seen a ghost earlier.”
Ghost glanced up slowly.
“Something like that.”
---
The next morning came too soon.
You had barely slept, turning restlessly beneath the thin blanket. Every sound from the corridor kept you on edge, every thought circling back to him.
You could almost feel his presence somewhere within these walls, that strange quiet weight that always followed Simon Riley.
A soft knock came at the door just after eight.
“Mrs Riley?” It was Dr Lane’s voice again.
You rose and opened the door, trying to look composed.
“Good morning,” she said. “The Chief would like to see you. It is nothing to worry about, but you are to attend a meeting in Room Twelve. Someone will escort you there.”
You nodded, slipping on a jumper.
“Of course.”
The escort was another soldier, polite but silent.
He led you through the halls until you reached a wide room filled with a long table and several chairs. You recognised Captain Price at once, broad, calm, and commanding. Beside him stood Gaz, then Soap, both straight-backed and attentive.
And at the far end, Ghost.
Your breath hitched the moment your eyes found him. That familiar black mask, the sheer size of him, the stillness that seemed to draw every breath in the room towards him. He didn’t move, but you felt his eyes lock onto you as you entered.
The Chief, a tall woman with a sharp presence, gestured for you to sit opposite her.
“Thank you for coming, Mrs Riley. We’re discussing some final security arrangements before Taskforce 141 returns to the field. I appreciate your cooperation.”
You nodded, though your mind barely registered her words. Your entire focus was on the figure standing a few paces behind her.
Simon hadn’t moved once. Not even when your eyes met.
He stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, like he was trying to restrain himself.
You forced yourself to keep your composure, to remember what you had been told.
Do not interact. Do not speak.
The Chief continued to outline evacuation procedures, convoy routes, safe zones, and lockdown protocols. You tried to listen, you really did, but the room seemed to blur around you.
When the meeting drew to a close, you stood automatically, preparing to be escorted out. The Chief turned to the soldiers.
“Gentlemen, we’ll continue in my office shortly.” Then she gave you a small, almost knowing smile. “Thank you again, Mrs Riley.”
You were about to leave when you felt it, a touch.
A hand, firm and familiar, resting lightly at the small of your back.
You froze. The Chief glanced over her shoulder, saw who it was, and said nothing.
Instead, she gave the faintest nod before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Silence followed.
You turned slowly, your heart pounding.
Ghost stood there, mask and all, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him. His gloved hand stayed at your back for a heartbeat longer before he spoke, voice rough, low, and unsteady.
“Couldn’t stay away.”
Your throat tightened.
“Simon,” you breathed.
The sound of his name seemed to break whatever restraint he had been holding onto.
In a single motion, he pulled you into him, his arms closing around you so tightly that you could barely breathe.
You pressed your face against his chest, the thick fabric of his gear cold against your cheek, but his body burning under it.
He buried his face in your hair.
“God, I missed you.”
You reached up, trembling fingers brushing over the mask.
“Let me see you,” you whispered.
He hesitated, then nodded. Slowly, you lifted the skull-patterned fabric over his head. The moment it came free, he exhaled sharply, as if he could finally breathe again.
There he was. The man you had waited months for. The one no one else knew you belonged to. His eyes softened the moment they met yours.
“You look tired,” you said, your voice cracking.
“So do you,” he murmured. His hand came up to your face, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. “They didn’t tell you anything, did they?”
You shook your head.
“Only that you asked for me to be brought here.”
“I had to,” he said. “Everything’s gone to hell out there. We couldn’t risk anyone being left unprotected. I couldn’t risk you.”
You smiled faintly.
“You and your secrets.”
“Had to keep you safe,” he said, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “They don’t know about you, and I wanted it to stay that way. But when the command said they were pulling families in, I put your name down without a thought. Didn’t care who found out.”
Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
“You could’ve told me.”
“I know.” He cupped your face in both hands, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Before you could reply, he leaned down and kissed you.
It was desperate and aching, like months of silence poured into one single moment.
The world outside the room faded away, the mission, the danger, everything. Just the two of you, standing there, clinging to what little time you had before it was taken again.
When you finally broke apart, you realised the others were still standing nearby, frozen in stunned silence.
Soap was the first to speak, his mouth half open.
“Wait. You’re married? To her?”
Simon let out a quiet sigh, slipping the mask back on, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Aye. Nearly four years.”
Gaz blinked, then grinned.
“Bloody hell, Ghost, didn’t think you had it in you.”
Price gave a low chuckle, shaking his head.
“So that’s what you’ve been hiding all this time.”
"Nice to meet you all." you said with a soft voice.
You could feel the heat rise in your face, but Simon just pulled you slightly behind him, protective even with his own team.
“That’s enough, lads.”
Soap smirked.
“Fair play, mate. She’s lovely.”
Simon gave him a glare that shut him up immediately.
Price clapped him on the shoulder.
“You’ve got yourself a good one, Riley. Keep her close when this is all over.”
Simon looked down at you, eyes softening again.
“That’s the plan.”
---
The building fell quiet after sundown.
The corridors that had been filled with chatter and the echo of boots were now dim and still.
Outside your window, the lights of the compound glowed faintly against the dark, their hum the only sound keeping you company.
You sat on the edge of the bed, hair still damp from a shower, wearing one of the plain T-shirts they had given you.
Sleep would not come.
Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. The way he had looked at you in the meeting room, the way his hands had trembled slightly when he held your face. The world had narrowed to those few stolen minutes, and now that they were gone, you felt hollow.
You were still lost in thought when a soft knock came at the door.
You froze, heart quickening.
“Who is it?” you asked quietly.
The voice came through, low and unmistakable.
“It’s me.”
You crossed the room and opened the door.
Simon stood there in full gear, the mask back on, but his posture was different now, less soldier, more man.
He looked tired. You stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. He stood near the wall, head bowed slightly, as though unsure of where to start.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you said softly. “They’ll notice.”
“I don’t care,” he replied, voice low. “Couldn’t leave without seeing you again.”
You took a few steps closer. “When do you go?”
“Tomorrow morning. First light.”
“So soon.”
“They’ve got a new lead. If it works, this might finally end it.”
You tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.
“You always say that.”
He gave a quiet huff that might have been a laugh.
“Yeah. And somehow I always come back.”
That made you smile, faint but real. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cold fabric of his sleeve.
“You always do.”
He looked down at your hand, then reached up to remove his gloves. When his bare fingers touched yours, it was like warmth returning to something frozen. You laced your fingers together, the silence between you filled with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.
“Did you get in trouble today?” he asked after a moment, voice gentle.
“For what?”
“For nearly giving me away in front of everyone.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head.
“You’re the one who touched me first.”
“Couldn’t help it.” His tone softened further. “Didn’t like seeing you there, pretending not to know me.”
“I didn’t like it either. But they told me not to speak to anyone. Said it was safer that way.”
He sighed, rubbing his thumb over your hand.
“I know. You did the right thing.”
You looked up at him.
“Simon, what if something happens tomorrow?”
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze.
“Don’t start that.”
“I’m serious. You’ve said yourself this operation is bigger than any before. I need to know you’ll come back.”
He stepped closer until you could feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your shirt. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, steady and grounding.
“I will,” he said quietly. “You hear me? I’ll come back. Always do.”
You searched his eyes, looking for any trace of doubt.
There was none.
Only that fierce, unyielding determination that had drawn you to him in the first place.
You reached up and cupped his cheek.
“You promise?”
“I swear it.”
You hesitated for a moment, then whispered.
“Take it off.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“What?”
“The mask. Please. I want to see you before you go.”
For a moment he didn’t move, but then his hands rose to the sides of his head. He pulled the mask off slowly, revealing his face, his eyes soft and unguarded in the low light. You traced your thumb across his jaw, over the faint scar near his mouth.
“There you are,” you whispered.
He smiled, small but real.
“You say that every time.”
“Because every time, it feels like finding you again.”
He leaned down and kissed you, slow and steady this time, no rush, no fear. Just a quiet promise between two people who had learned how to say everything without words.
His hand slid into your hair, holding you close until the world outside seemed to fade away.
When you finally pulled apart, you pressed your forehead against his. “Come back to me.”
“I will,” he murmured. “And when I do, we’ll go somewhere quiet. No missions, no secrets. Just us.”
You smiled.
“You always say that too.”
He gave a soft laugh.
“Maybe this time I’ll mean it.”
You walked him to the door, neither of you wanting to be the one to say goodbye. He looked back once before leaving, eyes lingering on you as if to memorise the sight. Then he was gone, the sound of his boots fading down the corridor until there was nothing left but silence.
You stood there for a long time, staring at the empty doorway, whispering a quiet prayer into the dark.
“Come back to me, Simon.”
The facility was different without them.
For days, the air felt heavy, charged with a quiet dread that no one dared to speak aloud.
Soldiers came and went, messages were exchanged behind closed doors, and every passing hour without word made the silence worse.
You tried to keep busy. You helped in the infirmary, offered quiet conversation to the other families who had been brought in, even sat by the window to read. But your thoughts always found their way back to him.
Simon.
Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the way he looked at you before he left, that calm, unbreakable confidence that had always been your anchor.
You repeated his words to yourself over and over, as if they could keep him safe.
I’ll come back. I always do.
But now, on the sixth day, the waiting had become unbearable.
You sat in the dining hall long after everyone else had gone, untouched food in front of you, listening to the rain that had begun to fall outside.
A few soldiers spoke quietly near the door, but you caught only fragments of their words, returning tonight, heavy casualties, mission complete.
You rose from your seat, hands shaking slightly, and walked quickly down the corridor.
The sound of boots and voices grew louder as you neared the main entrance. Through the glass, you saw movement, trucks rolling in under the floodlights, figures climbing out, weary and worn.
You searched every face.
And then, you saw him.
Simon stepped down from one of the trucks, still in his gear, mask in place, moving with the slow, deliberate pace of someone who had seen too much but survived it anyway.
Soap clapped him on the shoulder, Gaz said something that made him huff out a laugh, but his eyes were scanning the crowd.
He was looking for you.
Before you knew it, your feet were moving.
You pushed through the crowd, ignoring the looks and greetings, until you were in front of him. He froze when he saw you, as if unsure whether you were real.
“Simon,” you breathed.
He didn’t speak, just reached for you. His gloved hand caught your arm, pulling you against his chest, the weight of him grounding you in an instant. You pressed your face against his shoulder, the smell of rain and smoke clinging to him.
“You came back,” you whispered, voice shaking.
“Told you I would,” he murmured against your hair.
You pulled back enough to look at him.
“You’re hurt?”
“Nothing serious. Just tired.”
He removed his gloves and reached up to touch your face, his thumb brushing away the tears you hadn’t realised were falling. Around you, the others were still reuniting, but for a moment, there was only him.
Price passed by with a quiet smile, nodding at you both.
“Good to have you back, Ghost,” he said before moving on.
Simon’s gaze softened.
“Told him about you.”
You blinked.
“You did?”
He nodded.
“Figured it was time.”
You smiled faintly.
He stepped closer, one hand still on your cheek, the other sliding around your waist.
“You did well, staying here. Keeping quiet. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“I just wanted you,” you whispered.
“And here I am.”
He lifted his mask slightly, just enough to kiss you, soft, slow, and grounding. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I love you,” he said quietly.
You closed your eyes, breathing in the moment. “I love you too.”
The world outside went on but it no longer mattered. He was back.
Later that night, you sat together in your room, the lights dim.
Simon had removed his gear, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed, head bowed slightly as you cleaned a small cut on his arm.
He watched you in silence, eyes warm, almost soft.
“You’ve done that before,” he said quietly.
“Had to learn after the last time,” you replied, dabbing carefully at his skin.
“Always look after me.”
“Someone has to.”
He caught your wrist gently, guiding your hand to his chest.
“I think I’m the one supposed to look after you.”
You smiled at that, shaking your head.
“We’ll call it even.”
He chuckled under his breath.
“Fair enough.”
When you finished, you set the cloth aside. Simon reached up, cupping your jaw with one hand.
“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “And as long as I’m breathing, you always will be.”
You leaned into his touch.
“Then I’m not afraid of anything.”
He pulled you close until you were against him, your head resting over his heart, the steady rhythm of it the most comforting sound in the world. You stayed like that for a long time, saying nothing, just breathing in the quiet.
Outside, the rain fell softly against the windows, washing the night clean.
A week later, the operation was declared a success.
The enemy network dismantled, hundreds saved.
The Taskforce prepared to leave the facility and return to their base.
When the helicopter lifted off, Simon stood near the window, watching the horizon fade into morning light. You stood beside him, hand in his.
“What now?” you asked.
He looked down at you, eyes soft behind the mask.
“Now, we go home.”
You smiled.
The word felt new again.
Whole.
And for the first time in a long time, so did you.
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
She huffs lightly when she hears the low growl of the familiar soldier in the room next door, followed by her nurse griping and trying to work with him. Entering behind, she lays a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Go on, Paula, I got him,” she says with a smile and Paula practically screams in relief as she leaves the exam room.
She gives him a fond smile. “Now, Lieutenant, what have I said about antagonizing my nurses?”
He scowls at her. “I don’t like ‘em.”
“I know but I still need you to be kind when they’re simply trying to do their jobs.”
“I don’t like anyone touchin’ me but you.” He’s still scowling behind his mask, holding his side where she can see the black material stained a darker color.
“Well aren’t I special,” she murmurs, closing the exam room door before walking over. “You know the drill.”
He lifts his sweatshirt wordlessly along with the t-shirt he’s got underneath and she sighs at the sight of a cut about four inches long riding up his ribs.
“Do I even want to know how?” She asks.
“Trainin’ with Soap,” he mutters. “‘e’s a slippery lit’le bastard when ‘e needs to be.”
She snorts and goes about pulling on a pair of latex gloves before she begins to clean his wound with antiseptic. He doesn’t make a sound though she knows it stings like a bitch and the only show of irritation from him is the way his muscle ripple beneath her touch.
“I thought I said not to get wounded anymore.”
“Didn’t listen,” he simply shrugs.
“If I had half a mind, I’d assume you did this on purpose so you could come see me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter you’self. I don’t like you that much.”
A laugh escapes her as she checks the depth, ultimately deciding on a few stitches for his wound. “Oh I know you like me plenty, Simon.”
Simon.
She only says his name in privacy when no one can hear them. He hates the way his chest feels funny, sternum scratchy with an itch he can’t get to.
“‘S Lieutenant,” he retorts.
“Of course, of course,” she hums. “My most sincerest apologies, Lieutenant Riley.”
He scowls again but that itch returns when she begins to stitch his wound carefully.
After a few minutes, she sets the clipped thread down and admires her handiwork. “All done, sweetheart,” she says with a gentle smile and wipes it carefully before putting a bandage on it. “Don’t get it wet and—”
“Keep it dry and clean,” he finishes. “I know.”
She laughs and pokes the nose to his mask. “Maybe one day you will learn.”
She watches as he redresses himself before standing, waving off the bottle of pills she hands to him.
“Don’t need ‘em.”
“It’s just some ibuprofen, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t need ‘em,” he repeats with a growl and she rolls her eyes.
“You are so stubborn for no reason,” she says and places her hands on her hips. “And after all the care I just gave you.”
He looks at her for a solid moment before he leans over and kisses her cheek through his mask. “Thank you, love,” he mutters. “For takin’ care of me.”
She goes uncharacteristically quiet, cheeks getting hot and he smirks at her.
“Ain’t got nothin’ to say? Cat got your tongue?”
She glares at him half-heartedly. “Get out of my clinic, Lieutenant.”
As he heads for the door, he pauses and looks at her. “It’s Simon, to you.” He says, and closes the door behind him.
Can't get this idea out of my head that Ghost is a starer. Wide eyes and all, expression not even flinching.
At the base, while performing simple tasks, you'd often catch his eye. His gaze would fix on you, lingering just long enough to confirm you were in his sight, that he’d been tracking your movements, before he’d turn away to continue his work or simply walk off.
You initially didn’t know what to make of it. Did he dislike you? Was he annoyed by your actions? Or was it his silent, commanding way of saying, 'I'm watching you, don't fuck this up.'
You admired the man—hell, you’d even fantasized about him: receiving a quiet compliment on a job well done, or being invited for a private conversation that might lead to something more. But you quickly dismissed these thoughts. A simple recruit had no chance with a higher-ranking officer. Besides, the man was probably married.
When assigned to the same mission, he was entirely focused on his work, rarely looking your way unless it was absolutely necessary. Yet, even then, you’d feel his stare pierce your back. You’d turn to find his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable behind his mask. God, you wished you knew what his face would say. Would he be disgusted by any mistake you made? Or was he simply a master of holding his expressions in, which was essential for a soldier, especially one like him.
One day, seeing him in the cafeteria, you decided to confront him. If not for an answer, then at least for your own peace of mind; his silent attention making you uncomfortable on occasion. You'd studied him long enough to realize he didn't stare at anyone else or if he did, it was briefly and clearly related to a conversation. With you, it was different, and you needed to know why.
“L.T., is my eating habit bothering you?” You approached him in the hallway at the base, just as he was leaving for a debrief. The question was unexpected, but not surprising.
“Far from it,” he replied simply, almost as if he’d been expecting your challenge.
“Then why do you keep staring at everything I do? Am I doing something wrong? Am I not wanted here?” You took a necessary pause, the silence thick with your sudden hesitation before you forced the final question out. “Have I done something to disgrace you?” The rush of desperate questions poured out, but that last one felt heavy, lingering in the air between you.
“Do you really want to know?” His low tone and delivery made you blush, your eyes widening instantly.
“Well, yes. I would like that very much.” You crossed your arms, bracing for a quick response.
In a sudden, decisive movement, Simon grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a nearby storage closet and locking the door behind you. He lifted his mask slightly, just enough for his lips to find yours.
His eyes were heavy with lust, and you willingly surrendered control, not from fear, but because you wanted him to. You had imagined this moment. You wanted him to show you pleasure, to make you see stars as he took you in secrecy. The mystery of it all spun your head.
“This is what you do to me,” he groaned between kisses, making you melt under his touch and husky voice.
It was safe to say he answered all your questions that day, and you never complained about his gaze again.
simon is an absolute sucker for back scratches send tweet.
he's sold from the first moment you absentmindedly trail your nails down his freckled back, fingertips skimming over mottled and scarred skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. it's a simple gesture, one that he's not even sure you're aware you're doing as you curl yourself against him in the dim light of your bedroom. there's something addicting about the way you touch him, and the next time simon finds himself laying awake on the other side of the world he longs for the feeling. aches for it.
when simon finally does come home, he's plastered to your side. pins you to the couch and later to the bed - in a much different way - before flopping on his side and mumbling something sleepily. "what did you say si?"
"scratch me," is his response, his deep voice muffled by the pillows he's buried his face in. simon lets out an audible groan when he feels your fingernails ghosting over his back. his breathing evens out within minutes, tension he wasn't even aware he was holding slowly melting away. your hands don't stop their movements until soft snores start to slip from his parted lips. you smile, settling down into the pillows as you prepare to follow him into sleep -
"why did you stop?"
a/n: merry christmas to those who celebrate and happy holidays everyone!! i’ve been MIA for far too long so please accept this little drabble i had in my drafts (inspired by my boyfriend who’s brain literally shuts down when i start scratching his back) as a peace offering
i hope everyone has a lovely holiday and if this time of year is tough for you we’ll get through it together ❤️
Thinking about meeting Simon with his freshly bleached hair only to find out he's a natural brunette <3
I'm not sure how canon it is but I saw a tweet a while ago that Ghost bleaches his hair blond and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
You'd always just assumed he was a natural blond. You never really paid much attention to the hair on his arms because why would you? And you never see his legs as his dresser only consists of long cargo pants. His eyebrows weren't too much darker from the blond anyway.
You had no reason to think otherwise. Which only embarrasses him even more when you do find out. He knew you were going to find out eventually, but he never actually thought that far ahead.
He doesn't get time to fix his hair on base so it's only natural that he comes back with his roots grown out. It's a stark contrast to the rest of his bleach blond hair. So when you finally get to see your sweet Simon after half a year, you can't help but immediately notice the change.
At the time he wished you would've just ignored it, but when you caught that initial glimpse of his hair, your hands immediately invaded his scalp. It didn't help either that his hair grew fast.
"You never told me you weren't a natural blond."
"It never came up." he answered gruffly, his uncomfortable shuffling contrasting with the way he leaned his head down slightly and allowed you to inadvertently play with his hair. It felt nice, but he didn't want to admit it then when he was acting aloof.
"It looks nice," you'd say, and he'd scoff. You'd say again, "you look good in brown. Matches your eyes," and he'd just grunt again, acting irritated. Though the way he let out a content sigh as his eyes closed told you otherwise.
***************
DISCLAIMER
Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.
Imagine you and Ghost just finishing up a tumble when he crawls over your panting naked body, kissing you gently.
“Think you’d be down for another round, love?” He murmurs lowering his mouth to your breast making eye contact with you in the dark. You wrap your hands around his neck, body still limp from minutes before when he was still inside you, gripping your hips making you gasp against his pillow.
You’re about to tease him about being hard again so soon when he silences you. Carefully pressing his mouth in an open mouth kiss against the peak of your breast, pressing his lips firmly….
…and blowing a massive raspberry into your soft skin.
You pause for a moment in shock. And then burst out in laughter. His smile bright in the darkness, pleased with himself as he gets up to clean himself off.
It takes several minutes for you to calm down at your surprise, thoughts of another round gone as you giggle yourself to sleep wrapped in his arms.
no matter if you're in a talking stage, dating, situationship, if this man cares about you, absolutely do not say that you wish you could kill someone.
not debatable. you just shouldn't say that; as anyone else would laugh it off, he weirdly... starts to question you. not the usual questions how was your day, what happened etc.
"and what would you do to him?" he asks, while massaging your back. "choke him? stab him in the back, make people watch?"
"he just deserves to be out of my life, out of this job. i wish he wouldn't bother anyone again, i wish everyone just could forget him," you say—almost mindlessly, as ghost makes you feel relieved. not actually caring anymore, as it's another day of your annoying coworker.
simon just hums at that.
the next day, your coworker... he's gone. days, then weeks of not seeing him; no one actually knows where he is, he just wrote an email to your boss about moving on and taking new opportunities.
"it's just weird." you shrug, looking at simon's reaction; he's cooking dinner now, seeming completely unfazed by your revelation at work.
