content warning: creeper!ghost, she/her pronouns, reader gets undressed while simon is in the room and she doesn't know he's there, mention of male masturbation, body descriptions, no actual smut but MDNI.
an: more cod stuff, whose surprised? i saw a tik tok, and i came up with this. so i hope you enjoy. let me know if i should write some more stuff, even send me some ideas! not proofread!
Weirdly enough, Ghost enjoyed safehouses.
Maybe it was the quietness that fell over the house when everyone was way too tired to be loud.
Or the secludedness of the house, away from all the political bullshit.
Even if most of them were in shitty condition.
Or the size of a one bedroom flat.
Which both of those statements could be said about the one the five of you were currently in now. It was dark and dingy, none of the overhead lighting worked, so everyone was guided only by the few table lamps scattered across the house. Most of them being used by Gaz and Price who were using them to light their maps, trying to figure out the best way to get to their next location. But Simon had stolen one to read, cooped up in the only bedroom in the entire house.
It was an old novel, one he found on the dusty bookshelves out in the living room. Even for its age, it was quite interesting. Almost interesting enough for him to miss the commotion coming from the small kitchenette that was located right outside the closed door. It sounded like a loud frustrated groan, and the shattering of glass.
That’s when the bedroom door flung open, and you walked inside. Ghost only briefly looked up from the book resting in his large hands. You were mumbling something under your breath, and that’s when he noticed a large red stain on the white-beater you were wearing, and even on your jeans. “God, fucking damn it.” You muttered, picking up your rucksack from its place on the ground, and throwing it on the bed which was accompanied by a large creaking noise under its weight.
You began rummaging around in your pack, pulling out what looked like another tank top and a pair of issued-thermals. He was almost positive you hadn’t noticed him sitting in the corner, because you began unbuckling your belt, more mumbled curse words flying out of your mouth, and something to do with Soap, who he assumed was the cause of your frustrations. Once your belt was undone, you began fiddling with the empty thigh holster you still wore.
Your small fingers fumbled with the small multiple small buckles, shaking with anger. Ghost looked back down at his book, figuring you were about to change into a new set of clothes that weren’t so saturated with whatever that red substance was. His eyes started on the first sentence on the new page he had flipped to right before you barged into the room. But his brain couldn’t concentrate on the tiny-printed words, reading the same sentence three times.
When he glanced back up at you over the top of the book, you had finished fumbling with the holster buckles, and it was discarded on the floor. Now ripping your belt from the belt loops of your pants, discarding it in the same place. You had the same issue with the button and zipper of your pants, unsteady hands trying to fiddle with something so small. He glanced back down to try reading again, trying to give you the privacy you deserved. He could just stand up and walk out, but he could have startled you, or made you even more mad for not announcing his presence in the first place.
So, he sat as still as possible, trying to just keep his eyes off you. But that didn’t last for very long, after trying to comprehend the same sentence for the fourth time, his eyes glided back to you, almost unintentionally. You were now shimmying out of your jeans, struggling as they clung to you in their wet state. “Fuck you, Soap.” More muttering under your breath. Ghost’s eyes trailed over the newly exposed skin of your legs, noticing your calves, defined from the years of training. Your thighs, also toned, but more malleable, a slight jiggle when you move. He imagined himself leaving bruises on the insides of them, bite marks even.
He admired the white cotton panties that covered the apex between your thighs, and hugged the fullness of your ass. He couldn’t help but notice the small bow that decorated the front of them. Definitely not in regulation, but he couldn’t care less at this moment. His mind was running wild with thoughts of you. He would be lying if he hadn’t thought about you in this exact situation. Except usually, it was him undressing you instead.
Ghost had been attracted to you since the moment he laid eyes on you, almost three years ago. But he was not the type to act on it, or even hint at it, unlike Soap and Gaz. It was no secret that most of the team, excluding Price, who had taken on almost a fatherly role to you. The remaining three had some sort of interest in you. It seemed only natural when you were the only female in an all male group, but everyone was respectful about the situation. Gaz and Soap would joke about certain topics with you, but at the end of the day they would take a bullet for you without any question. Ghost would too, obviously.
Ghost shook his head almost cartoonishly, trying to free his mind of the thoughts plaguing him. He shouldn’t think about you this way, you were his comrade, and these thoughts were too distracting to have while on a mission. At least, he thought that until you pulled the soaked tank-top over your head, exposing your bra-clad chest. The bra was nude, perfectly matching your skin tone. It was also stained red, so in one quick motion, reaching behind your back, you let the bra fall to the floor along with your other clothing.
Ghost only had a side-view of you, but your breasts were perfectly sculpted for your chest, everything he had dreamed of while cumming into his fist after a long day of pretending you had no effect on him. Ghost had completely forgotten the book in his hands, the cover falling closed. He was completely gawking at you, no shame, well, maybe a little. But that was the last thing he was thinking about at that moment. He was disappointed, as he watched you latch another bra around your chest, covering your breast once again.
Next was a white tank top, similar to the one you had on earlier. His eyes wandered down to your ass, taking it in for the last couple moments. Who knew when, or if, he would ever see it again. You struggled with the thermals, swaying your hips back and forth, trying to get the tight-fitting garment up your legs. They fit you snug, not leaving much to the imagination, the other men would surely get a kick out of them, but Ghost was the lucky bastard who got to see you without any of it on. With one last huff and shimmy, you turned and walked back towards the door, ripping it open again.
“Soap, I’m still gonna kill your stupid ass!” You exclaimed, slamming the door shut in one smooth motion before disappearing back into the kitchenette. Leaving Simon there, the book still shut and completely breathless. And not to mention a raging hard on.
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader
Type: Fluff, smut (minors dni)
Summary: You’re the reason why Ghost wakes up in the morning, and you’re why he lets himself dream at night. (a part 2 to the right thing to do)
Word Count: 5.5k
Warnings: use of female body descriptions, explicit language, masturbation, needles/stitches, forced proximity, pining
A/N: hiii, so yes, this is a part two to ‘the right thing to do’ (yayyy). i’m not gonna lie, this chapter was going to be longer, but i decided to cut it so that 1. you guys can get more ghost content faster and 2. you don’t have to read 20k words. as always, likes/reblogs and comments are always appreciated, hope you enjoy :)
Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 3
In Ghost’s life, moments of domesticity were rare. Between his turbulent childhood, his initial years during and after the military, and the crippling paranoia being in special forces came with, Ghost could count all the times he had felt that comforting sense of peacefulness; of safety; of not worrying about who was waiting to kill him or who was going to hurt the people he loved; that feeling; that soft, warm, light feeling; he could count all the times he felt it on one hand.
The first time had been when he was a kid — maybe six, maybe seven. Or maybe he was younger, he didn’t know. Everything from back then was blurry. He remembered feeling safe because his brother and his father were gone, and it was just him and his mom. He didn’t know why they were gone, just that they wouldn’t be back until the end of the week. He remembered sitting in front of the fireplace with his mom, eating takeout and listening carefully as she read him a story: Treasure Island. When the book was finished, he remembered dragging his mom to the backyard and begging her to play Long John Silver while he, Jim Hawkins of course, challenged her to a pirate duel.
The second time had been at his nephew’s first birthday. It had been a small party, his brother and his wife, his mother, and him. He had been on leave for a while at that point, tending to family issues but by then, everything was fine. His sister-in-law had tucked his nephew into bed, and the rest of them were sitting outside around a fire drinking cheap beer and reminiscing over the past. He could still remember that warm feeling in his chest, a combination of alcohol and happiness.
And the last time he could remember, the third and final time, was now. It was here, with you by his side and the snow falling around him. It was the warmth of your body against his; the way you fit against him perfectly, like he was made only for you; it was the way you smelled, the way the fragrance of his cheap soap, the one you had made fun of just hours before, mingled and danced with that familiar, smokey smell of guns and bullets; the way you made him feel, light and airy and safe, as if you and him were alone together in a tiny pocket of space where nobody could reach you.
You made him feel safe. You made him feel sleepy. It was odd, because Ghost had never been a stranger to staying awake before. As a child, he spent his fair share of nights hiding under blankets with a book and a flashlight, staying up the entire night reading so he wouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares that plagued his sleep. And if anything, the military had only worsened his sleeping habits. He had gone days — one time a week — without sleep while on the battlefield. He knew how to shake off the tight grip of exhaustion, how to spit in its face and tell it to fuck off so he could keep doing his job. He had done it time and time again in the past, but for some reason in this moment, his ability to do so was escaping him.
It was something about you — it was everything about you — that made it hard for him to stay up. The way he unconsciously synced up his breaths with your steady, even ones; the way the warmth of your body pressed against him rolled off of you in waves, encouraging him to just give in; the way you somehow made him feel so relaxed and peaceful and content, as if you were a long-term mission he had finally accomplished; everything about you made his eyelids droop and his mind hazy.
And it killed him to have to wake you up, to have to be the one to disturb your rest when you looked so happy and satisfied sleeping. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t risk falling asleep when he was supposed to be protecting you. He would be letting you down, and he knew that disappointing you — or worse, getting you killed — would hurt far more than waking you up. So with a heavy heart and a stiff shoulder, he carefully nudged you until you woke up.
You opened your eyes slowly, peeling yourself off of him as you looked around, trying to remember where you were. He watched you bring a hand to your mouth as you let out a yawn, your eyes squinting shut as tears welled up under them. “My turn?” you asked, your voice slightly scratchy.
Ghost swallowed, your voice was definitely doing something to him. “I don’t know,” he said, “you think you’re awake enough to do it?”
You huffed, “Do I even have a choice?”
“Not really.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said, letting out a sigh as you cracked your neck. “Give me a second though.” He nodded, watching as you rubbed your hands in front of you, before slapping yourself on the cheeks lightly. “You gonna sleep in here or outside?” you asked, sniffling a little.
He wanted to stay outside with you, but the cold was starting to get to him and he could already feel his back starting to get stiff. “Inside. But I’m showering first,” he said, picking up his bag as he moved to stand up, “and I’m getting your gun. You think I’m gonna let you keep watch unarmed?”
“Don’t bother,” you told him, shaking out your legs as you stood up, “I’ll get it myself.” You followed him into the house, and he could hear you rustling around behind him as he walked into the bathroom. He had forgotten how small the bathroom was, or maybe he was just large. He barely fit between the sink and the door, causing him to have to shuffle awkwardly just to put his bag down.
He let out a sigh as he stared at himself in the mirror, running his hand down his face. Looking in the mirror was always weird for him. In one way, he could look at himself and register that that was Ghost, that was who Ghost was, who he looked like. But Ghost wasn’t the same as Simon, and the face staring back at him? That wasn’t Simon either. He knew Price considered the man under the mask to be Simon, that the mask was what ‘made’ Ghost. But if he was being truthful, he wasn’t really sure if he knew who Simon actually was, if Simon was even still a part of him after all these years, bright-eyed but scared and hidden under the surface.
He looked away, peeling the mask off of his face. He stared at it for a moment before folding it neatly and placing it on the sink. He started taking off the rest of his gear too, his vest, his boots, his belts, the various pockets and holsters he kept clipped to his thighs and the accompanying firearms. He turned on the shower, the pressure was dismal and the water ice cold, before unzipping his jacket, peeling off his undershirt, and stepping out of his pants and boxers.
The water had barely warmed up by the time he got in, sending a shiver down his spine. To make matters worse, the showerhead was much shorter than him, reaching only up to the base of his chin. He winced as a sharp sting of pain shot through him when he tried to crane his neck downwards. He tried reaching for the back of his neck, but the shower was small and maneuvering around was difficult.
His thoughts trailed over to you again. For some reason, it was weird to think that you had been in this same shower just a few hours before. What had you been thinking about then? Had you been thinking about him? Or had you been thinking about the others? If you were thinking about him, what were the specifics? Did you like him or hate him? Want him or not want him? And if you did want him, how did you want him? Did you just want him as a friend or as a trophy? Did you actually want to know him, to be there for him, or was he just an accomplishment for you to boast about, a way to prove you were able to conquer the elusive Ghost?
And what if you wanted him as more than a friend? What if you wanted him the same way he wanted you? With him towering over you, his fingers working miracles inside your wet cunt or with you pressed against him as he thrust into you over and over and over again. Maybe you wanted him to push you down flat against a table and whisper dirty things into your ear as he pulled you back on his cock, or maybe you wanted to push him down on a bed and ride him until your legs gave out and he had to take over for you.
Shit, he thought as his cock began to twitch, but he couldn’t stop himself. His mind kept coming up with new images, new scenarios that only stoked the fire growing in his core. You on your knees, your lips swollen and red and wrapped oh so tightly around him; you sitting on his face, your thighs clenching around his head and your hands gripping on for dear life as you came into his mouth; you tied up to a bed while he held a vibrator to your clit as you whined and wiggled and begged as orgasm after orgasm racked your body.
Fuck. This wasn’t right for him to be thinking of you like this. He was your boss for fuck’s sake, your coworker, your teammate. It wasn’t fair to you for him to be thinking of you this way, not when you were just a few yards away. But god damn it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been this hard, so hard it was on the verge of hurting and it would be so easy to just get rid of his stupid erection, all he needed was a few minutes. That was all it would take, and besides, what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right? He stifled a groan, using one hand to ease himself onto a wall as the other finally wrapped around his cock.
He shuddered at the touch, staying still for a moment before he started moving his hand. It had been a considerable time since he had touched himself; so long, in fact, that he really couldn’t remember the last time he had. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, trying to imagine it was your hand wrapped around him instead of his. He knew how it would feel too. Somehow, despite all your time in the military, your hands were still butter smooth and pillow soft.
He let his mind continue to fill with dirty thoughts of you as his hand stroked his shaft, letting his head fall back against the wall. He swallowed down a groan as he brushed his thumb over his tip, spreading his precum along his erection. He tried to pretend it was your smooth hand rubbing along his dick instead of his own rough one, letting his mouth hang open as his hand slid along his cock at a steady pace.
He threw his head back against the wall, letting the pleasure wash over him in waves as the fire in the pit of his stomach grew. He could feel his breaths shallow as his hand moved faster along his cock. He snaked another hand down to cup his balls, shuddering at the touch, while his other hand moved to focus on the head of his penis. It wasn’t long until he could feel his balls start to tighten and his cock start to throb. He closed his eyes as he let the pleasure dictate his movements. He focused his attention to his tip, stifling a moan as he finally came onto the tiled wall. He tried to ride out the high for as long as he could, shutting his eyes as he felt his cock start to soften.
He opened his eyes, watching as his cum began to drip down the tile. Shit. Had he really just done that? He could feel the shame bubbling up on his stomach already. God, he was your boss, you trusted him, and he took that trust and spat in its face. He rubbed one of his hands down his face, leaning the other against the shower wall as he considered the weight of what he had just done. He had violated you, and for what? A few seconds of relief? Cupping his hands, he gathered up the cold shower water and splashed it against his face, his eyes falling to stare at the cum-stained wall, a glaring reminder of his wrongdoings.
“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself as he washed it off, desperate to get rid of the sight of it. He took one last look at the area, forever tainted by the knowledge of what he did, before reaching for the soap. He felt dirty, dirtier than before, and suddenly he was desperate to clean himself.
Letting out a sigh of frustration, he turned his attention to the rest of his body, grabbing the soap you had left behind and lathering it up in his hands. Washing his body was awkward in the small space, but not completely impossible. He tried bending down again, and this time he was relatively successful. It was painful, considering he probably had a nasty cut on his back and he was essentially hunched over at a forty-five degree angle, but he was able to get his hair wet enough to wash it which was all that mattered.
He finished up his shower, wrapping the towel around his waist as he shook his hair dry. The cabin was much colder without his clothes to keep him warm, but that was the least of his problems. Gracelessly, he turned to examine his back in the mirror, pursing his lips as he saw the nasty scratch just below the base of his neck. He wasn’t surprised at its presence, after all he had felt a bullet graze past him while they were being shot at, but he didn’t realize the extent of the damage. He had assumed it was just a small injury, a minor scratch he could sleep off, but the wound in the mirror was longer than he thought.
He sighed as he reached for his first aid pack, pulling the suture kit out. He turned to the mirror again, trying to get a better look at the scratch. He turned his attention back to the kit, squinting hard as he tried to get a good grip on the needle. Once he was finally able to, he stood up to look in the mirror again, trying to twist around to get a good angle, but it was no use. Ghost threw the needle down onto the sink, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He knew he should have asked you for help, but he knew the stitches would take a while and he just wanted to sleep.
He put his cargo pants and undershirt back on, ignoring the sting from his back as he grabbed his equipment before tugging on his balaclava once more and exiting the bathroom. The cabin seemed emptier without your presence filling it up with thick tension. He tried to take a deep breath but was interrupted by the stinging pain from his back. He exhaled, clenching his jaw as he bent over to grab his bedroll from his pack.
The sound of creaking behind him caused his head to shoot up, his hand curling around the handle of a small pocket knife he kept in his bag. He swiveled around to see you, your hands in the air with one of them clenched around your blanket. “Woah there, Ghost,” you said jokingly, “I come in peace. You alright?”
He relaxed a little, before remembering what he had done in the shower and stiffening again. “‘M fine. What are you doing here?” he asked, wondering if you had somehow heard him.
You lifted your blanket, “Figured I’d give this to you, that way you can sleep on the bed instead of the floor.”
He eyed you warily, before reaching it out and grabbing it from your hands. “You sure you don’t need it?”
You nodded, your eyes wide and encouraging as you watched him ball it up in his hands. He gave you one last look before turning around to the bedroom, content to call it a day when he heard you gasp. He looked around to see you, one hand over your mouth and the other pointing at him.
“Something wrong?” he asked, his stomach dropping with worry. Did he somehow leave something behind that exposed what he had done in the shower? Fuck. He never would have forgiven himself if this ruined your relationship. He would have to leave the task force, that was for sure, he wouldn’t be able to see you without knowing what he had done, what he had messed up, what could have been.
You stared at him like he was crazy. “Ghost,” you said, your voice laced with disbelief and something else, concern? “Your shirt… There’s blood on it.”
He groaned, partially in annoyance and partially out of relief. Of course his cut started bleeding now. “Oh, that?” he said, feigning ignorance, “it’s nothing, just got clipped back in the forest. It’ll be fine.”
You stared at him, your mouth gaping open. “That is not fine,” you said, “do you see how much blood there is? That needs stitches. Get over here, I’ll sew you up.”
“It’s—”
“No excuses,” you said sternly, silencing the words in his throat. “Sit,” you insisted, pulling a chair from the table.
He sighed, rolling his eyes, but he sat down in the chair nonetheless. “Off,” you said, moving behind him and tugging at his now bloody shirt.
He stilled, his heart skipping a beat. He knew you were just saying it to get access to his wound, but still, it wasn’t like he had ever actually undressed in front of you. “You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless, you could’ve just asked. No need for all this ‘stitches’ business,” he said, trying to hide how nervous he was.
“Ha ha,” you said sarcastically, and he could practically hear you rolling your eyes from behind him. Was that a good sign? Was that a bad sign? He couldn’t tell.
“Just saying,” he said, before lifting the shirt off his body, being careful to not lift his mask in the process. He could hear you suck in a breath as your eyes scanned over his back. He suddenly felt incredibly self conscious as you stared at him; he knew his body was far from perfect. His back alone was littered with scars from wartime, knife scratches and stabs, scrapes and bruises, bullet scars. He knew it was perfectly normal for the military, an occupational hazard, but he couldn’t help but worry you would be disgusted by the sight.
You didn’t say anything though, just groaned quietly as you crouched down — to rifle through your bag, he assumed. “I’ve already got an opened suture kit in my bag,” he said, listening to you stop your searching.
“Oh, so you knew it needed stitches earlier and you still let it sit?” you asked, the disapproval clear in your voice.
He sighed, “Now who’s sounding like Price?”
“Yeah, well, Price is right,” you said, echoing Ghost’s words. “See what happens when you don’t apply stitches? Now I gotta clean up all this blood.”
“All this blood?” he asked, his head tilting towards you slightly, “is there that much?”
You clicked your tongue, and he could feel you eyeing him, “I guess not,” you said after a while, “but your shirt smeared it around a lot. Your back could probably give Carrie a run for her money.”
“Carrie?”
You hummed, the sound of you moving towards the kitchen sink filling the quiet room. “Have you never heard of Carrie?” you asked, turning on the tap.
“Is that the one with the uh, with the girl?”
“The one with the girl?” you called back over your shoulder, “real descriptive there Ghost.”
He scoffed, “Just hurry up and get these stitches done before I fall asleep.”
“Just hurry up and get these stitches done before I fall asleep,” you repeated in a shrill falsetto, mocking him. He turned to watch you as you returned from the sink, a damp cloth in hand and a small smile on your face. “No squirming, the water’s cold.”
He took in a breath when he felt you sliding the cold cloth against the plane of his back, suppressing a shudder when you swiped the fabric over the cut. He stayed still as you continued wiping down his back, listening to your quiet breaths instead.
He tried to ignore the awkwardness that settled in between the two of you. Or maybe there was no awkwardness and it was just a figment of his imagination, because you seemed completely unbothered by the silence. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing, that you were so calm even though your fingers were ghosting over his back. He wondered if you could tell how nervous you were making him, how you were making his cheeks heat up under the mask every time your breath tickled his neck, how his muscles tensed up every time your fingers brushed against his skin, how his heart pounded in his chest with every little sigh or concerned click of your tongue. In a weird way, he was thankful for the blood smeared on his back, considering it allowed him a valid excuse if you asked why his skin was turning red.
He felt you lift the cloth off of his back and walk back over to the sink. Your soft hands wringing out reddened water from the fabric as you ran it under the tap. You returned to your spot behind him again, continuing the task of wiping off his bloodied back. You started to hum quietly as you worked, setting off another swarm of butterflies in Ghost’s stomach. He couldn’t tell what you were humming, it could’ve been a song or it could’ve been a random melody you made up. Either way, he enjoyed it just the same, listening closely to every note.
After a while, he felt you take a step back and stare at him for a second, before returning to the sink and discarding the cloth inside it. “Get the kit out,” you said, your back turned to him as you washed your hands. He complied, stifling a groan as he bent over to pull the kit out from his pack. He fiddled with it as he watched you walk back to him, noticing the way your eyes lingered on his chest for a split second before extending it out to you.
“Alrighty, I don’t think I need to tell you this is gonna sting,” you said as you set up your materials. It was silent for a moment, before he felt you put one of your hands against his back for leverage. He tensed up at the touch of your cold hand against his skin, and you pulled your hand away. “Sorry,” you said, sucking in a breath.
“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, “just didn’t expect it.”
You hummed, “So this is okay?” you asked, putting your hand on his back again.
He nodded, stifling a wince as he felt the needle pierce his skin. Once again, you were humming as you worked. For some reason, the entire scene felt oddly domestic: you humming as you patched him up, with a storm raging outside. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the two of you were in his flat in Manchester.
He had never really given much thought as to what domestic life with you would look like. He had never allowed himself to, after all, what was the point of entertaining a dream that would never become a reality? But now he needed something to take his mind off the painful pricks of the needle, and you had already proved yourself to be a worthy distraction.
He tried to imagine what it would be like to actually live with you, to have someone to do laundry with, to do dishes with, to wake up with, someone to come home to. He had a feeling you would never approve of the way he lived currently. It had been a while since he had been in his flat, but he could still remember how he left it. Light gray walls as bare as when he got them, his closet filled only with empty hangers, his kitchen cabinets empty save for a few pots and pans, and one lonely set of dishware. His bed wasn’t any better, he didn’t even have a bed frame. Just a mattress pushed against one wall, one white pillow at the head and a neatly folded white blanket at the foot.
But if you moved in, everything would change. He could line the walls with photos of the two of you, fill his closet with your clothes. His dishware wouldn’t be lonely because he’d have to get another set for you, and he wouldn’t mind spending the entire day shopping for a bed frame as long as it was with you. He wanted to wake up with you, to be able to roll over and bury his face in your chest; he wanted to come home and wrap you in his arms after a long day, or to feel you sidle up behind him as he prepared breakfast.
The more he thought of a life with you, the more awkward he felt with you behind him. You were so ignorant of everything he thought, you didn’t know how badly he wanted you, how he would kill anyone for a chance with you. In your mind, he was nothing more than a coworker, someone you only talked to at work, but in his mind, you were his entire world. When he let his mind run wild, you took up every thought, every whim, every idea. You were tattooed on his mind in technicolor; everything was laced with your presence, your being.
“Alright,” you chirped, clapping your hands together. “Stitches are all done. I can’t believe how well you took that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that even Price at least winces whenever he gets stitched up. No offense, Ghost, but sometimes I seriously question your humanity.”
“What, you think I’m a robot?”
You snorted, “It wouldn’t surprise me, especially with that mask. It really sells the impression that you’re a cold, heartless, killer.”
“Yeah well, can’t let the enemy know I’ve got a heart, can I? That’s a sure recipe for disaster.”
“Oh so you do have a heart?” you asked, turning to face him.
“Last I checked.”
“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”
“What, you want proof?”
You shrugged, “Can’t hurt.”
Ghost stared at you for a moment, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute. He didn’t know what possessed him when his hand reached out for yours; it was as if he no longer had control of his body and he was just a spectator being forced to watch as his body moved on its own. His hand grabbed yours, and he watched as you stilled, but didn’t pull away. He pulled your hand to his chest, letting it settle above his heart.
Ghost tried his best to keep his breaths steady and his heart from hammering in his chest, but between the warmth of your hand against his cold skin and your wide eyes which were trained on his, he had a feeling his heart might have skipped a few beats. It was silent for a moment before you spoke.
“I guess I was wrong,” you whispered, your eyes flickering down to sneak another glance at his chest.
“I guess so,” he said in response, his eyes dipping down to stare at your lips. They were reddish-pink and slightly chapped from the cold weather; Ghost wanted to kiss them. Slowly, he looked back up at you, meeting your gaze. You seemed awfully nervous all of a sudden; a stark contrast to your usually confident and relaxed nature. He wondered if he was making you nervous, and if it was a good nervous or a bad nervous.
He didn’t want you to be nervous that he would hurt you; he would never hurt you. Doing so would be like stabbing himself in the heart, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t look at your tear-filled eyes and know that he was responsible. He wanted you to be nervous that he had caught you staring, that he knew you liked him. Of course, Ghost didn’t know anything at the moment. Once he realized how distracting you were to him, he made himself stop trying to read you, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about even more things.
“Oh shit,” you said, breaking the silence, “you said you were tired right? You should probably go to sleep, I don’t want to keep you up.”
Ghost was slightly disappointed as you pulled your hand away, but the way it lingered for just a second too long — as if you wanted to go back for another touch — didn’t slip by him. “Of course,” he said, rising from his seat, “we’ve got a long day tomorrow. We need to find the others and secure exfil. I don’t think we’re gonna be taking on Zhelyazkov any time soon after this.”
You nodded, your lips pressed into a line as you watched him grab his hoodie from his bag and slip it on. “Wake me up when you get tired,” he said, turning towards the bedroom.
“Yes, sir,” you said.
The soft cushion of the bed was a warm welcome compared to the hard wood of the chair, although this time he didn’t have the warmth of your hands to keep him company. He set his stuff down next to his bed, letting out a groan as he lay down. It felt like ages had passed since they first arrived at Zhelyazkov’s base and he started shooting at them. Ghost let his eyes fall shut as exhaustion began to kick in, his mind too tired to think. Sleep came to him quickly once his head hit the pillow. His eyelids became too heavy to open and he could feel his body sinking into the mattress.
Ghost wasn’t typically a dreamer, and yet that night, he dreamt of you. There wasn’t much meaning or direction to his dreams, just images and flashes of you, brief pockets of peacefulness or lust. He dreamt of waking you up in the morning with breakfast in bed, savoring the way you smiled up at him, your sleep-filled eyes crinkling at the corners. He dreamt of holding you against the wall, one leg wrapped over his shoulder as he ate you out, drinking in the way you cried out his name. He dreamt of walking along the street with you, one hand wrapped tightly around your waist as he admired the way you looked up at him with loving eyes. He dreamt of thrusting into you on a fur rug in front of a fireplace, delighting in the way your nails scratched down his back.
For too long, you had been nothing more than a distraction to Ghost. It was all he allowed himself to categorize you as, a mere inconvenience in his job. It was all he allowed himself to categorize you as, because the truth? The truth was that you were so much more.
You weren’t just the reason Ghost forgot to triple check his intel; you were the reason he looked forward to early morning meetings with the team. You weren’t just the reason Ghost had gotten sloppy at covering his tracks; you were the reason his heart fluttered whenever you were nearby. You were the reason his chest skipped a beat whenever you brushed up against him, you made his cheeks heat up whenever you pretended to flirt. You were the reason he flared up with jealousy whenever you talked to Soap instead of him. You were the reason for his bad mood when he didn’t see you at breakfast. You were the reason he felt safe; you were the reason he lowered his guard. You were the reason he made himself get up in the morning. You were the reason he let himself dream at night.
Synopsis: Getting stuck in a far-away safehouse in the middle of a snow storm wasn't ideal. But it is during those moments that the most closed off people may reveal more of themselves, and she never expected that, of all people, her intimidating lieutenant would have such a soft side he kept hidden away.
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female!Reader
Requested: No
Genre: Smut / Fluff ! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD
Warnings: Smut, mature content, inappropriate relationship with a superior, description of male and female genitalia, descriptions of male and female body, fingering, penetrative sex, p in v, creampie, soft sex, Simon is touch starved, fear of attachments, scars, body worship, Ghost is a huge softy because I said so, it also gets sad at one point but briefly
Do not repost
Word Count: 6k
General Masterlist COD:MWII Masterlist
GIF not mine
The wind was howling and screeching as the old, rusty car struggled to drive through the mountain of snow. The freezing wind squeezed through the gaps between the door and infiltrated the space within the small truck. She shivered, her teeth chittering as she attempted to warm up by hugging herself and breathing into her hands.
The number of layers she currently had on her didn’t seem to matter, as the cold seemed to penetrate through every gap in her clothing and stick to her skin like cleavers. She could see a faint cloud form in front of her every time she breathed, reminding her of the many times she was stranded in the freezing cold during a mission. This was starting to become a common occurrence and she was not too happy about that revelation.
She glanced to the side, watching as her Lieutenant kept a strong hold on the steering wheel. The old thing was close to falling apart, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised when the engine revved for the first time. She was expecting his attempts to fail miserably, already preparing herself for the ten mile walk to the safe house. Luckily, her pessimism was proven otherwise. She guessed she would rather be freezing cold inside the car than have to face the storm brewing outside.
Ghost didn’t seem to be as cold as she was. Though she assumed he could have just been hiding his discomfort like he usually did. He was one giant mystery of a man, and although he had opened up to her before, she still felt as though she knew nothing about him. Which, to an extent, was true. She knew the basics, just enough for them to consider each other friends. But she knew nothing of his past, and a part of her believed she never would.
“We’re almost there,” his gruff voice suddenly rang out, pulling her out of her own thoughts.
She nodded, though she didn’t say anything in return. She was only hoping the safe house would have some sort of heating system within it, otherwise she was sure she was going to freeze to death. She almost jumped with excitement when, through the thick fog of snow, she could see the outline of a small, wooden house. A sigh of relief left her lips, and her eyes closed for just a moment.
The car soon came to a creaky stop, and she silently thanked whatever forces were out there for not letting it explode on the way there. The moment she opened the car door, she wished she didn’t. The freezing air instantly made her skin prickle, her face feeling numb as her feet dived into the sea of snow. It enveloped her calves, making it difficult to push through, but the promise of a warm safehouse gave her the motivation she needed.
In what felt like seconds, she was already inside. The place looked awful. She was sure it hasn’t been used in years, if not decades. All hope of a heating system immediately went out the window the moment she realised how truly old the place was. She felt as though she was transported back to the 90s, nay maybe even the 70s.
And even if it didn’t look as old as it did – click – the electricity wasn’t working. She didn’t know whether it was because of the storm outside or if it hadn’t worked for years, but she doubted it would come back on anytime soon.
The sound of footsteps coming up behind her made her release a sharp exhale, “This is a shithole.”
“It’ll do,” was Ghost’s reply. “Go look for blankets. I’ll start the fire.”
It was only once he mentioned the fire that she noticed the stone fireplace hiding behind a stack of boxes. She felt relieved for a moment, watching as his tall figure approached the corner of the room, moving the stacks of boxes to the side to inspect the fireplace.
She hesitantly moved from her spot and ventured into one of the only other rooms within the house. The moment she stepped foot inside it, she felt the protein bar she ate 6 hours ago try to come back out. The room smelt of death and mould, and she wouldn’t be surprised if she found a rotting corpse somewhere in the small space.
The bed was broken in the middle and the mattress was a sickly green colour. She could only gag at the sight, ruling out the option of either of them sleeping soundly on a bed.
“Why the fuck is this still marked as a safehouse,” she muttered to herself whilst crouching down, opening all the drawers she could find in search of a blanket. A pillow. Anything.
There was nothing in the room except the vomit-inducing smell. And so, before she had the chance to actually throw up in the middle of the floor, she sped away and entered the room next door.
The bathroom was much nicer. Not nice, but nicer than whatever was happening in the bedroom. She slowly approached the toilet and pressed the lever, grinning when she heard the loud noise of the water flushing. At least the toilet was useable, that was a relief.
There was a small cabinet in the corner of the bathroom, right beside the lime-scaled bathtub. She wasn’t quite sure what else she was expecting to find in there, but the sight of towels made a frown pull at the corners of her lips.
She felt defeated when she left the cold bathroom, more so when she saw Ghost struggling to light the fire with the wood that was laying around in the common space. “How’s it going?” she questioned despite clearly seeing him struggle.
“Shit,” was all he said in return, an annoyed grunt leaving his throat as he blew on the wood.
She let herself look around the, what looked like, a living-room. The sofa-bed was sunken in and the material was severely ripped. The arm chairs which stood at either side of it didn’t look much better, making her curse at the only option the two had.
Sleeping on the floor it is.
As she looked around, her eyes eventually settled on a closet which stood at the far end wall of the room. How she hadn’t seen it before, she wasn’t sure. But she was glad she eventually did, because the moment she did –
“Bingo!” A wide smile pulled at her lips.
Not only were there blankets in there, but also two, thick duvets that she was more than happy to see. Taking one of the duvets, she placed it on top of the carpet in the middle of the room, not too far away from the fireplace. She turned the blankets into make-shift pillows and then placed the other duvet on top. She guessed this was better than sleeping on the floor, or on the mould-ridden bed in the other room.
A bright light made her look up, and a smile formed on her face when she noticed the fire that now engulfed the logs of wood. Ghost looked down at the ‘bed’ and sent her a confused glance.
“Yeah, sorry, but unless you want to sleep on a mouldy bed, or on that piece of shit,” she pointed at the sofa behind her, “we’re gonna have to share.”
Ghost didn’t break their eye contact, as if contemplating what his next move was going to be. Eventually, he sighed and accepted his fate. “Kick me in your sleep and I’ll lock you out.”
She looked offended at his words, her brows furrowing and mouth falling open, “I don’t kick in my sleep, dickhead.”
He nodded, as if not believing her and walked away, making his way towards the bathroom.
By the time the two were situated in the bed, if you could even call it that, the moon had risen high in the sky, making her smile at the sight. The flames had warmed up the room, and hiding under the duvet, she could no longer feel any cold that lingered in the air.
The two soldiers were laying on their backs, her position closer to the fireplace than his. She guessed it was a chivalrous act, or maybe he just didn’t get cold as easily as her. Whatever it was, she was glad, her eyes admiring the orange flames as though they were a painting in an art gallery.
At this point, the two had stripped from some of their clothes, only leaving their socks, cargo pants and t-shirt on, and in Ghost’s case, also his mask. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would have to do.
With a small inhale, she glanced over at the man laying down beside her. The black paint was still smudged around his closed eyes, and staring at his covered side profile made her wonder what was hiding under the balaclava. She guessed she would never know, but it was fun to speculate, especially when she had nothing better to do.
Her eyes drifted downwards a bit, past his nose, lips, chin and down to his neck, right above his clavicle. There was a faint line there, almost invisible unless you paid attention. Her hand moved without her realising and before she knew it, she was pressing her index finger against the bumpy patch of skin.
His eyes shot open, though he didn’t move. He didn’t say anything either, only letting his eyes move to gaze at her concentrated expression. Eventually, her eyes lifted, making contact with his brown ones. He was expecting her to move away, maybe even apologise, but she didn’t. Instead, she sent him a soft smile and spoke, “When did you get this one?”
He remained silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts before he decided to answer, “Five years ago.”
She nodded with a hum and turned on her side to see him better, “Mission?”
“Yeah,” he swallowed thickly and glanced down at her cheek, where a small scar decorated her skin. “What about that one?”
She smiled at his words, and for a second he thought she was going to burst out laughing. “Training. Got knocked out and fell. The asshole had a ring on his finger and cut me up.”
Ghost hummed, looking back up at the ceiling. For a moment, she thought that was the end of their conversation, but he soon spoke up once again, “Did you return the favour?”
“Hell yeah, I did,” she grinned, “Broke his nose.”
If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he laughed at her answer. But she couldn’t be certain, not when she could only see his eyes.
“You got anyone out there?” she asked, only realising how invasive the question was after she said it. For a second, she was afraid he would blow up on her, tell her to go to sleep and mind her own business.
But he didn’t. Instead, he took in a deep breath and shook his head, “No.”
“Me neither,” she told him. “I guess it’s better this way, right? No one’s gonna be sad when we get killed off.”
Ghost hummed in agreement.
“Though sometimes,” she laid back down on her back, staring up at the wooden ceiling, “It’s gonna sound selfish, but sometimes I wish I did have someone out there. Someone I could visit when we’re not deployed.”
He didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even move a muscle, but she could see that he agreed. He didn’t have to tell her out loud when his eyes said enough.
Biting on the inside of her cheek, she turned towards him with a smirk, “You ever had a girlfriend, or boyfriend?”
This time, he rolled his eyes and turned away from her, his back facing her.
“It was just a question,” she laughed, “Come on, don’t ignore me. I’ll pester you all night if you don’t turn back around.”
“Go to sleep,” he told her. It wasn’t a suggestion. She knew that tone of voice, it was an order.
An order she was going to disobey. “Come on, talk to me. We’re gonna be here for the next few days, so we might as well talk.”
“No,” he huffed, letting himself fall on his back again.
“No, what?” she asked.
“Your question,” he reminded her, “No.”
“Ah,” she hummed, “Me neither. Guess we’re both loners. Would you ever-”
“No,” he answered before she could even finish her sentence.
Her brows furrowed, “Why?”
He turned his head in her direction, their eyes locking together as he answered her truthfully, “Why would I? We’re gone most the time. I die, they’re left alone. Doesn’t sound fair.”
She hummed in thought, “I guess. But maybe they would just be happy to have spent that time with you, rather than none at all?”
He searched her eyes for something, refusing to look away even when he didn’t find what he was looking for, “You feel that way?”
“As in, would I rather spend time with someone and have them die, rather than never know them at all?” she asked, and he nodded, confirming her question. She pondered for a while. She would definitely be devastated and heartbroken, but at the end of the day, she knew her answer, “Yes.”
This time, he fully turned on his side to be able to look at her, “Why?”
“Everyone dies, Ghost,” she told him as though he wasn’t aware of the fact, “Even if we were civilians, we could die suddenly. Car crash, stabbing, or maybe even an undiagnosed illness. It doesn’t matter, we’d all die eventually anyway. If everyone avoided relationships just because of that fear, we would have died out centuries ago.”
Simon thought over her words. He understood what she meant, because despite it hurting when he lost people – soldiers, friends – he didn’t regret ever knowing them. They lived in his memories. Memories which sometimes haunted him in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret ever meeting them.
He didn’t realise how long he seemed to have been staring at her, unblinking, until she spoke once again. “You’ve got pretty eyes, you know?”
She changed topics a lot, which he already knew from years of working with her. But it never failed to take him by surprise, especially when she said something like this. “They’re brown,” he pointed out.
“Yeah. They’re warm,” she told him seriously.
“Warm?”
“Mhm,” she nodded, “Bet you’re pretty, too.”
He almost snorted. “Trying to get me to take my mask off?”
She shrugged, a smile pulling at her lips, “You caught me.”
He shook his head, amused by her antics as he let his eyes fall closed. Just for a moment, because not even a minute later, he felt her fingers pushing back some of the dirty-blonde hair which managed to escape from under his mask.
His eyes shot open, but there was no hostility in them. In fact, they were soft. Softer than she ever saw them before. There was a slight glaze to them, and she didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she moved forward, her face barely inches away from his.
He didn’t move back, and she took it as a good sign. She always did feel a certain attraction to him, his gruff voice and tall stature was sure to pull her in despite her protests. But he was her superior, she wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way. Not when it could get them both in trouble.
He said her name lowly, the sound of his voice making her look down at his balaclava-covered lips. She wanted to move the wretched material away, but she knew better. She didn’t move, her eyes moving back up to his, only to find them staring at her own lips.
“Gho-”
“Simon,” he whispered, the name sounding foreign on his lips.
Was this permission? She could only assume it was, and so she whispered, “Simon.”
His eyes closed at that, only opening back up when his hand was gently holding her jaw. His touch was feather-light as if he feared she would disintegrate the moment his skin made contact with hers.
She placed her hand on his, a small smile playing at her lips when she angled her face enough to place a soft kiss on the inside of his palm. He watched her moves carefully, only moving closer towards her after watching the gesture he had never received from anyone before.
He whispered her name again, this time placing his forehead against hers as he did so.
“Simon,” she spoke softly, her eyes staring deeply into his. “Can I kiss you?”
He clenched his eyes shut. And to her, it looked as though he was fighting with himself. Trying to fight against what he wanted, and what he knew was right. Yet despite all this, his thumb hooked around the bottom of his mask and lifted it just above his half-full lips.
He didn’t open his eyes after he did so, not even after his hand returned to her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek with so much affection, she felt as though she was going to melt.
“Can I?” she asked again.
He nodded, moving towards her and pressing his lips against hers himself. The kiss was slow and soft, his lips working against hers with a gentleness she wasn’t aware he was capable of. She moved herself up ever so slightly, balancing herself on her elbow without breaking the kiss. They were in sync, and all she could think about how perfect the moment was. How his lips fit perfectly against hers. How his touch was soft and gentle as he used both his hands to cup her face, his palms feeling hot on her warm skin.
She pulled away, catching her breath as Simon chased after her lips, desperate to feel more of her touch. He stared up at her, his fingers tangling into her hair as he placed his forehead against hers.
“This is wrong,” he voiced.
She knew it was. He didn’t have to tell her. Internal affairs would have a field day, had they found out about this. But she wasn’t going to tell, and neither was he. They were stuck in an isolated safe-house with no electricity and they wouldn’t be able to go back for the next few days. There would be no way of this ever getting out, but the fear was still there.
She let out a sharp breath, “Do you want to stop?”
He shook his head, “Fuck no,” and pressed his nose against hers, “Do you?”
She breathed out a laugh, “Fuck no.”
There was a moment of pause, neither of them making a move to enjoy the closeness between them. The echoing of the crackling fire created a feeling of cosiness in the otherwise uncomfortable safehouse, making them wish for the moment to never end.
With a shaky breath, she pressed her lips against his again, the material of his balaclava rubbing against her nose as he angled his face to deepen the otherwise soft kiss. He pushed himself up on his arm and guided her to her back as his tongue slipped inside her mouth.
She didn’t feel intimidated by his larger frame hovering above her. It was quite the opposite in fact, as she felt safer than ever. She felt at peace when he moved on top of her, placing one knee between her thighs to hold himself up, careful not to collapse on top of her body.
“Simon,” she whined, her abdomen feeling warm with excitement.
He groaned and his head fell against her shoulder, hand moving away from her cheek to rest beside her head. He pressed his lips against her neck and her eyes had fallen closed, enjoying the feeling of soft, gentle kisses being peppered from her clavicle and up to her jaw. She had never imagined him to be as soft as he was. A part of her believed he would be a rough lover, with harsh kisses and hard touches, but the reality caught her by surprise, and she could only smile at the almost loving kisses he placed upon her skin.
She turned her head to the side, pressing her lips against his as her hands ventured downward, pulling his tucked-in shirt from underneath his pants. Her fingers made contact with the skin on his abdomen, and the man above her let out a groan. She wondered when the last time he got touched in any way was. When was the last time he kissed someone, or had someone press their palms against his? She could only assume it was years ago, if ever.
“Can I?” She asked, tugging at his shirt.
He nodded, sitting up on his knees to pull his shirt over his head and throw it behind him. Her eyes immediately went down to his chest that was littered with scars from missions in the past. Some were deep and long and others short and faint. There was a burn mark on his shoulder and with a frown, she pushed herself up to press a soft kiss against it.
Simon sighed, his hand reaching for the back of her head to run his fingers through her hair. She smiled at him and reached for her own shirt, pulling it off her body and leaving her in her sports bra. He watched her attentively, half-lidded eyes taking in her half-naked form. Surprising him further, she reached for the clasp on her back and got rid of the restraining bra, a soft sigh leaving her lips.
His eyes lifted to hers again and, with a soft look on his face, he placed one of his hands on her waist to push her back on the make-shift bed. He trailed another set of kisses down from her neck and down to the valley of her breasts, yet his hand remained on her hip.
It was only when she placed her hand on hers and moved it up her body that his warm palm cupped one of her breasts, receiving a series of moans from her in return. She could feel him smile against her soft skin before his lips enveloped her nipple, wetting it with his tongue.
“Simon,” she moaned, reaching for his head, only to be met with the material of his mask. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to rip the dreaded thing off his head.
He groaned in return, stopping his ministrations against her breasts when he felt her thighs wrap around his waist. He moved his hand down to her cargo-covered leg, pulling it slightly higher up his waist.
They shared a long look, and a small frown pulled on his lips
“What’s wrong?” she asked with concern.
Simon moved back, and for a second she panicked. Had she done something wrong? She was about to ask him when his hand reached for his mask. She was expecting him to pull it back down, but instead his finger pulled it up, reaching only his nose before she stopped in.
She had a worried in look in her eyes, “You don’t have to,” she told him, afraid she somehow pressured him into removing the covering.
He smiled at her. A genuine smile that has her knees feeling weak, “I want to,” he told her as he removed the mask and exposed his face for her to see.
She watched him with widened eyes, admiring him like he was a piece of art. And perhaps, to her he was. Every scar that decorated his skin, those half-full lips, lightly crooked nose and those warm brown eyes she found herself drowning in. Every part of him was art.
She cupped his face and moved towards him, straddling his waist and pressing her chest against his. “I knew you were pretty,” she grinned.
He let out a laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners at her words. With a smile, she connected their lips again, wrapping her arms around his neck as his snaked around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Her lips left his, leaving him to chase after her with a small groan.
She connected her lips to the skin on his shoulders, busying herself with kissing every scar she came across as her hands went down to his abdomen, pulling on his belt to undo it. It didn’t take her long, and soon the leather was hanging loosely around his hips, the metals clinking against each other. His zipper was next to be undone, getting pulled down by her slender fingers as he let out a quiet moan.
She almost squealed when his arms wrapped tighter around her waist and pulled her up to her feet, his form towering over hers. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the metal of her own belt and unbuckled it with expert fingers, letting the leather loose. She watched as he then hooked his fingers around the top of his cargo pants and pushed them down, letting them fall all the way off before kicking them away.
Her eyes darkened with lust as she shamelessly looked upon the tent in his boxers. He let out a chuckle and approached her, his lips pressing into hers as his arms landed on her waist, sliding downward until his hands reached her own cargos. Deepening the kiss, he pushed them down enough for him to cup her ass, letting the material fall to the floor and join his own when she kicked them away.
They were soon back on the soft duvets, her legs wrapped around his waist as his boxer-covered cock pressed against her core. She whined at the contact, breaking the deep kiss as her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.
Ghost sent her a soft smile, placing a kiss to her cheek before diving his head and kissing his way down her body. He stopped at her abdomen, above the line of her underwear. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and expecting, “Can I?” he asked.
With a heavy exhale, she nodded.
“I need to hear you say it,” he spoke in almost a whisper.
She let out a shaky breath, “Yes.”
With a smile and a gentle kiss against her abdomen, he pulled her underwear down her legs. He couldn’t stop his eyes from settling between her legs once the thin material was off her body. Suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, she closed her thighs.
He looked up at her, his eyes understanding as he placed a hand on her knee, “It’s okay,” he told her softly.
She hesitantly opened her legs up slightly and Simon placed them on either side of his hips again, not even once breaking eye contact as he did so – it was intense, the way he was looking at her. Despite his eyes remaining as soft as when their evening began, she could see a certain intensity within them. Perhaps it was due to the moonlight highlighting his face, making his gaze seem more passionate than it actually was.
His muscles also seemed to benefit from the bright moon, the light highlighting every vein on his bicep and every muscle on his abdomen as he crawled on top of her once again. Taking her lips in his, he let his hand travel from her legs and stop between her thighs to collect the pooling arousal with his index finger.
She moaned at the action, her legs tightening around him as her fingers grabbed onto his dirty-blonde hair. Their tongues met, exploring one another with fervour as his moved up towards her clit, rubbing it in slow circles.
She moaned into his mouth, head falling back and eyes clenching shut as the ecstatic feeling made her move her hips upwards. Simon kissed her pulse, humming against her skin as he gently placed one digit at her entrance, the finger moving inside her with ease.
A harsh tug at his hair made him release a low groan, though a smile played at his lips at the sound of her breathy moans. Adding another thick finger, he massaged her walls by curling them inside her. She moved her hips in sync with his movements and clenched her eyes shut, entirely losing herself in the feeling of him pleasuring her.
“Simon,” she moaned, and the way she said his name - in such an erotic way - had him moving his own hips downward. His cock was now uncomfortably pushing against the fabric of his boxers, and she could not stop herself from using her feet to push it down his hips. His dick sprang free, and he hissed upon feeling the raw air against his skin.
Her name fell from his lips when he felt her walls clench around his him, speeding up the movement of his fingers to chase her incoming orgasm. She looked up at him, her lust-filled eyes glassy as they rolled to the back of her head.
She moaned his name once again as she felt herself approaching the finish line. Her legs tightened around him and arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush against her. His cock made contact with her abdomen and a small hiss left his lips as he rocked his hips upwards.
Finally, with a loud moan, she felt the knot that formed in her stomach let go, and her orgasm washed over her. Her legs trembled and walls clenched tightly around his to digits, which he continued pumping in and out to milk her orgasm. Her breathing was erratic, and with his head pressed against her body, he could hear her heart jump in her ribcage.
He eventually pulled his fingers out and untangled her arms from around his neck, pushing himself up enough to be able to look at her. The hand that previously toyed with her was now on her thigh, keeping her leg in place as he gazed into her eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his gruff voice ever so soft.
She could only nod, not trusting her own voice as she could feel his hard cock resting against her, leaking precum that slowly pooled on her skin.
“D’you want to continue?” he questioned.
This time, she answered with a smile, “Yeah.”
Nodding, he kissed her once more, groaning when he felt her fingers wrap around the base of his cock and moved her hand up and down as their tongues met once more. She pressed his dick against her vulva, gathering the remains of her arousal with the tip. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes meeting hers as she angled him at her entrance, sending him a small nod to let him know it was okay.
Moving her leg further up his hips, he pushed into her, his cock entering the walls which invited him with a warm hug. They both moaned in unison as he stretched her, gently pushing more of himself in until he was fully seated inside of her.
His hips stilled for just a moment, enough for him to look at her once more and see her nod. Giving him permission to move.
His thrusts were slow, matching the softness he had shown her the entire evening. He pulled out almost completely, making her feel empty until he dived back inside and filled her up entirely once again. His head fell to her shoulder, groans and moans leaving his mouth with every thrust.
Despite wanting nothing more than to close her eyes and lose herself in the feeling – of his chest rubbing against her perky nipples, of his cock hitting the back of her uterus with every thrust and in the way his pelvis deliciously brushed against her clit – she didn’t. She looked down to where his hand held her thigh, keeping it up on his hip, perhaps to give himself a better angle, or maybe just because he wanted to touch her. His tattoos were almost shining in the moonlight, and so was he. His skin looked ethereal under the bright light, and she hoped the sight would never escape her memory.
The moonlight was washed over the both of them, and the warmth from the fireplace made the moment feel more romantic than it otherwise would have been. They didn’t pay attention to the dust-filled floors, the smell of mildew in the air or even the harsh storm outside the window. All they could feel was each other’s skin, and all they could hear was the gentle moans getting past their lips. Everything else was forgotten; it was ignored.
“Simon, please,” she whined, pressing a kiss to his shoulder to urge his movements. He sped up his thrusts, yet only slightly. Not too fast or rough, but just enough to chase their orgasms. He could feel her clench around him once again, and the wet sounds coming from between her legs gave him further motivation to get them there faster.
His thrusts got lightly rougher, his pelvis hitting her clit more harshly than before, but that only made her moans increase in volume and her fingers dig into his shoulder blades. She let out a choked sob and with a stronger clench than before, she finally came around his hardened cock.
Simon moaned at the feeling, hips beginning to stutter as he approached his own orgasm. “W-here?” he asked, pulling himself up to look into her eyes.
She smiled up at him, unable to find the strength to answer him, and so she just nodded. She was still clenching around him when he thrusted deeper into her, getting entirely swallowed inside of her as he let go. He painted her insides white with a loud grunt, and his forehead fell against hers.
They were both panting, trying to catch their breaths as they embraced one another. They stayed like that for a short while, bodies pressed against each other and his cock was still deep inside her. Despite the sensitivity they both felt in their groins, they were comfortable. They felt safe within each other’s arms, and for a moment they even managed to forget where they were. That they were soldiers and this moment of bliss would not last long.
With a soft kiss against her cheek, he pulled out of her. She was ready to wrap her arms around him again when he stood up, moving away from her and heading to the bathroom. She was confused for a short while until he returned with a damp towel and kneeled beside her.
“It’s not mouldy, is it?” she asked seriously when he placed the cold cloth against her hot skin, collecting the sticky fluids which stuck to her.
Shaking his head, “No,” he assured her, momentarily watching as his own cum spilled out of her before collecting it with the towel. Once he deemed them both clean from their activities, he left the towel in the sink and laid down beside her. They wrapped their arms around one another, the duvet covering their naked forms as their legs got tangled together.
She let out a soft sigh, “This is going to complicate things, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he admitted, though he didn’t sound like he regretted anything that had happened. He kissed the crown of her head and closed his eyes, enjoying how their bodies were pressed together – how he could feel the heat radiating off her, and how he could feel her heartbeat against the skin on his chest.
“I won’t tell,” she told him, as though that was his concern.
He breathed out a laugh, “I know,” he told her, “Sleep. We’ll talk it out tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, closing her eyes as the crackling of the fire lulled them both to sleep.
The two stayed like that all night; their limbs tangled together as the moon bathed them with its light, giving them its blessing.
Summary: Betrayal is thick in the air, but you still have Ghost
A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! I’m busy making pie. Is this out of character for him? I don’t know, maybe. It’s only a drabble.
Your hands shake as you sit on the cot. His gaze is heavy as he watches you. You know he’s worried, they all are. You haven’t said a word since they got you out of that warehouse. Ghost won’t leave your side–barking out orders. The needle goes in and out of your skin. Stitching up wounds. There are so many. You don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything.
It’s always those that you trust. Betrayal licked up your spine, red hot, branding itself angrily on your skin. Graves held a gun to the back of your head, walking you down a long corridor. If you weren’t going to be collateral, you sure as hell would be bait.
You never doubted your team. Sitting with your arms chained above you, a split lip, an eye swollen closed. Not once had you uttered a word. You’d endure. You always have.
“She’s in shock.”
“She was fucking tortured.”
“I don’t think that’s what did this. I think Graves–”
“Graves did what?” Simon’s voice held a threat, one you didn’t want to test.
A deep sigh. The doctor levels him with a look. “She needs time. I know it may be hard for you, but be patient.”
You don’t leave for another three days. They lather you with gauze and antibiotics. Questions are thrown at you left and right. The team comes to visit. Soap kisses your cheek, his touch gentle but gaze full of rage. You didn’t need to say anything, Simon always scared them off before it became too much. A brief twitch of your lips. Who needs words when body language exists? When it’s time for you to go, you don’t go home. Brows furrowed, you look at Simon.
He appears relaxed, but you know better. You’d like to think out of everyone on the team, you had all his tells down to a science. Maybe even some new ones that he didn’t know he had. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. The fact that he’s gloveless throws you off. His jaw moves under his mask, clenching and unclenching. He’s got built up anger and no way to let it out.
“I want you to feel safe.” He finally bites out, voice gruff from lack of use. He flicks his eyes to you. “Do you trust me?”
Trust him? Trust him? There wasn’t anyone that you trusted more. He could have your heart and you would break it for him, because he’d never do it himself. He’d rather die. He’d rather die than have you go through what had happened to you.
You nod in confirmation. It’s not what he wants, but he’ll take it. It’s all you can offer right now. Your lips twitch when his hand grabs yours.
The SUV barrels down the road, silence lingering between you. It’s comfortable, not the kind that has to be filled. You have no idea where you’re going. Not that you mind. Your eyes cut over to the burly man beside you. Your heart rattles in your ribcage, desperate to break out and go to him.
Go to him like you knew he’d come to you. You never doubted him. Not for a second. You squeeze his hand. He looks at you, dark eyes tracing over every inch of your face.
Simon is a private man. You know almost nothing about him. Or at least you thought you did. But as he takes you somewhere for only you and him, somewhere for him to take care of you the best way that he can. The only way he knows how. You realize he’s let you in more than you had thought.
“Simon,” your voice is rough, low. It scratches at your throat. It makes you cringe. You never said a word when you were held hostage, but that didn’t mean you never screamed.
His hand tightens around yours. He hears you. He knows. He'll help you forget.
Summary: You thought you’d try your hand at being defiant and decided to say “No” to Air one night. You thought it would be amusing- if only for a second. Air, on the other hand, found no humor to it and decided to teach you a lesson. Reader x Air
His head turned sharply, eyes wide and full of indignation, stunned that I had dared defy him. As he quickly crossed the room I realized the full extent of the mistake I had made. He stood before me and continued walking, pushing me up against the wall.
“What did you say to me?” His voice was heavy, and despite the thick accent he had, every word was crystal clear. He was daring me to repeat myself.
“N...no.” I didn’t know when to stop. I hadn’t learned my lesson from the last time.
Feeling his stare, I looked up- my face already turning the lightest shade of pink- I knew what would come of the word ‘no’. He used is height against me as he towered over me- I was trapped against the cold wall of the hallway.
Taking both of my hands in one of his, he lifted them above my head, “No huh? And just who do you think you are, my dear? You will do as you are told.”
‘I-” I couldn’t even get the words past my lips. Even with his mask, I could see his expression- I was to be silent. No excuses, no more insolence. His eyes said it all.
He pressed himself against me, his body hot and still- completely in control.
“You know what happens when you don’t behave, yes?”
A nod was all I could manage- his eyes bore into me; past clothes, past my skin- into the very soul I had given to be with him.
Taking his free hand he caressed my cheek and leaned into me- every inch of me in contact with him in one way or another. He gently ran his hand from my temple to my cheek and lower still towards my neck. Air bent down, his mask against my face as he whispered, “Bed. Now. And Lucifer help you if you tell me no one more time, pet.”
The words, “Yes, Sir”, barely escaped my lips as he let go of my hands and in one swift motion stepped back- allowing me to walk into the other room where he expected me to wait for him. I didn’t dare look back, but I knew he was watching me. I could feel his eyes on my back following me intently..
Into the bedroom I walked, and as I sat on the edge of the bed waiting, I felt the familiar excitement building up in me. My clothing felt constricting all of a sudden, heavy and suffocating. I wanted it off- but I knew he wanted me to wait for him. If I didn’t- I’d only be adding more to my sentence. After the last few weeks together, I wasn’t sure my body could handle his passion if I pushed my luck much further.
Even if his anger wasn’t caused by me, he would take me into the bedroom and make me his all over again if one of his brother Ghouls looked at me longer than he thought should be or in a way he didn’t like. He was by far the most protective- he went far beyond what I saw from the others and their chosen girls for the night or the week. I had also stuck around the longest, and I didn’t want this to end; I didn’t want to go just yet.
He kept me waiting- roughy 15 minutes had passed before his body filled the door frame. I was squirming, hot and anxious- needing his touch to cool me down once more and bring me back to earth.
“Good girl.” He came over to me, and began to undress me. My shirt came first; he pulled it off slowly and tossed it aside, completely forgotten on the floor. “Are you going to behave now?”
Biting my lip I answered him as I always did, “Yes, Sir.” His eyes showed his amusement with me, and the veiled desire he felt.
The rest of my clothes soon followed, leaving me bare and naked before him. He stayed dressed though- he always did in times like this one.
“Lay back.”
I did as I was bade and saw him kneel before me. Lifting up his mask he spread my legs and buried his head between my thighs. The glint of silver from the mask caught my eye as he gently bit the inside of my thighs before kissing me.
His tongue played with me; inside me, and brought me to new heights. Crescendos, decrescendos, archs of pleasure ran through me, building up- but to no release just yet. This was my punishment it would seem- endless cycles of build-up and desire with no end, the climax I yearned for was not mine yet.
He played with me- tasting and teasing me- taking his time with me. He was pushing me, waiting for me to break. I tried not to beg. To give in, but the desire within me won. I needed him.
I broke, I was his.
“Please, Sir. Air, fuck me please.” I wasn't sure he’d even heard me- my voice was barely above a whisper. But he had. He stroked me one last time- slowly, gently, before getting up again and fixing is mask. All I saw again were his eyes. But I knew beneath the silver he was pleased. I knew he smirked- it was all in his eyes.
Still on my back, I stared at the ceiling and waited for what would come next. I didn’t dare move for fear he’d change his mind and make me wait longer.
His hands caressed me, grabbing my breasts, plucking my nipples and sliding down to my waist, finally stopping at my hips. He was right against me, right between my legs and I felt him- hard and ready.
He looked at me right before he entered me. His eyes pierced my soul as his cock pierced into my body. He dropped his head and broke eye contact with me as a pleasured growl reached my ears. I could feel him tense before his entire body came to a complete stop.
I parted my lips, ready to voice a complaint before his head snapped up and he locked eyes with me once more.
I knew everything was lost when he pulled back slowly, one of his hands reaching up to wrap around my neck. He thrived on watching me squirm beneath him, gasping for air. It was then, and only then, that I realized what kind of a night he had in store for me. He would make me regret defying him.
And even as he eased the pressure on my neck and thrust back into me roughly, I found myself dropping my head back in pure ecstasy forgetting how I had gotten myself into this predicament in the first place.
It didn't matter and I didn't care.
I knew I would do it all over again the next night and he would be right there with me, reminding me that I was his and only his.
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader
Type: Fluff
Summary: You’ve become a distraction to Ghost, and so he’s started keeping his distance for the sake of the team. But when a mission goes awry, he finds himself stuck with you.
Word Count: 7.3k
Warnings: explicit language, mentions of/allusions to sex, brief mention of dacryphilia, brief mention of blowjobs, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury, forced proximity, pining
A/N: hiii, ngl i’m actually really proud of this fic, like deadass this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of starbucks. anyways i was thinking of including smut in this but changed my mind bc that shit’s hard to write so it’s pretty pg-13. i plan on making this a bit of a series (with smut hopefully) so while this chapter is gender neutral now (i think, don’t quote me tho) in the future the reader will be written as a girl. as always, likes/reblogs and constructive criticism are always appreciated, enjoy :)
Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2
It wasn’t right for Ghost to be paying you as much attention as he was. It felt right, and he wanted it to be right, but that didn’t mean it was. What was right was what kept the most people safe. What was right was what kept the most people alive. Usually that was what Ghost did. Ghost did what kept most people safe. He did what kept the most people alive. The problem, however, was that doing the right thing and indulging in his feelings for you were two diametrically opposing things. Indulging in his feelings — indulging in you — was wrong.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with you; there could never be anything wrong with you in his eyes. How could there be, when he was seeing you through rose colored glasses? Although in his case, he supposed, they were more dark red than rose. Trivialities aside though, the real problem wasn’t anything that you were doing, it was what he wasn’t doing.
He wasn’t peering around every corner anymore. He wasn’t focusing on covering his tracks as well as he should. He wasn’t triple checking every piece of intel the task force got their hands on. He tried to, he really did, but with a thousand thoughts running at a hundred miles per hour — and a large majority of them having to do with you — it was only expected that a few things slip through the cracks.
For the most part, nothing too bad had happened as a result of his carelessness. A few scrapes and maybe one-too-many close calls, but nothing that would have gotten anyone in trouble. Maybe, if he weren’t a lieutenant or if he were in a completely different field, he would’ve been content to let it slide. But as corny as it sounded, he was part of a team, and he wasn’t going to let more people get hurt on his watch. Not again.
So for the safety of the team, Ghost started avoiding you. It always hurt him to push past you in the hallways, ignoring your little attempts at small talk; or to use Gaz as an example for takedown demonstrations, when in reality all he wanted was to be able to savor the warmth of your skin, even if it was with you pinned under him. Although, if he were being honest, he wasn’t opposed to pinning you down in other contexts. But as much as he hurt, he knew he had to do it. It wasn’t fair to you or the rest of the team if he wasn’t at his full capacity at all times.
He had made that decision two weeks ago, and it was already starting to get to him. Sleep was harder to get by, he was snapping at his teammates more, and when he rubbed the eyeblack off, it was only replaced by the sunken shadows under his eyes. He missed you too. Missed the way you would always offer him a bite of your food during dinner even though he would never eat it; missed the way you would always shoulder him to get his attention while you were walking to the training room, your hands in your pockets as you began telling him about something you had read the night before; missed the way you would grip onto his arm and try to goad him into taking off the mask or telling you what he looked like. Always the utilitarian though, he shouldered the problems in stride. They were nothing, he told himself, he had been through worse and he would go through worse. That was just how it was in the military. Besides, Laswell had just told them about a new mission, and a new mission meant new problems and new distractions.
It had gone fine in the beginning, but after a certain point everything started going to shit. On paper, their mission was simple; extract Krasimir Zhelyazkov, an arms and ammunition dealer with the Bulgarian mob who had allegedly dealt with one of Makarov’s right hand men, Demyan Solovev. Zhelyazkov would take them to Solovev, and Solovev would take them to Makarov. Simple. Of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to war.
For one, Bulgaria in the middle of winter was cold, and with cold came snow and ice and wind. And of course, with snow and ice and wind came slippage and extra gear and low visibility. Ghost had been worried about the weather going into it; while all the members of the 141 had training in multiple environments, it was never easy going into a fight with snowfall as thick as blanks in a lottery.
The other problem was Zhelyazkov. While Ghost and Laswell both confirmed the validity of the intel they had received, there was no guarantee that Zhelyazkov would turn. Makarov was an intimidating man, and the stories of what he did to snitches were not pleasant. Either way, Zhelyazkov was unlikely to make it out alive, Ghost just had to make sure he got the information out of him before he died.
And of course, the other problem — which Ghost admitted was not unique to this mission but was still a problem just the same — was you. Even though he had tried to put distance between the two of you, he couldn’t help himself from stealing a glance in your direction every once in a while, just to admire the way your breath condensed in the frigid air or how you scrunched up your nose as if to make sure it was still there.
Ghost knew about these problems before they happened, and so he prepared for them. Worried about slipping on the snow covered ground? Request boots with better traction. Worried about Zhelyazkov not snitching? Get his family involved; it was unethical, yes, but if it was what it took to get the information then so be it. And you. Ghost knew he couldn’t afford spending anymore time eyeing you in the field, so he only increased the distance between the two of you.
Typically, if a target heard that someone was coming for them, they tucked their tail into their legs and ran — usually to a foreign country or some sort of island. But with Zhelyazkov, there was nothing to tip the 141 that anything was amiss; no sudden airplane rides, no sudden stoppage of shipments, nothing. Zhelyazkov kept living and doing business as he always had, seemingly unaware of the intel the 141 had on him.
Which is why when they approached Zhelyazkov’s compound, they expected it to be an easy takedown. In order to save personnel and to preserve stealth, the task force only sent one team out. For this particular mission, the team included Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, and of course, you. Ghost was conflicted about your inclusion on the team; on one hand, you were a valuable asset to the mission, but on the other hand, seeing the way you rubbed your hands together for heat in the cabin of the helicopter filled him with an aching urge to reach out for you and was an obvious distraction that impacted his ability to protect his team. In the end though, he couldn’t hold his inability to focus over you and besides, you had experience from your time before the 141 working in similar conditions, not to mention the general tactical expertise you brought to the table.
The mission had started like any other routine extraction would. A chopper flew the five of you to a forest on the edge of the compound, the thick snowfall helping to cover you. Once on the ground, Price did a quick headcount to make sure everyone had landed alright, before readjusting his rifle and leading the group forward. The five of you traveled in a line, with Price at the head and Ghost at the rear. You were positioned behind Price, but even with Soap and Gaz in front of him, Ghost was still acutely aware of every step you took.
At the moment, it seemed as if there was nothing to worry about. The snowfall was heavy of course, but not too heavy that it hampered the team and besides, it covered their tracks and kept them hidden. At least it should have.
The sudden shower of gunfire actually wasn’t the first thing that tipped Ghost off that something was wrong. It had been their radios. Laswell had told them she would be checking in on them after they landed, but five minutes had already passed with no sign of communication. At this point, they had left the forest and Ghost tried calling in, but to no avail. His radio provided nothing but crackly static, buzzing and impatient. He knew something was wrong and he tried to call for Price, but that was when hell started raining down on them.
The thing about gunfire is that you could actually see the shot happen before you heard it. It had always been an odd phenomenon to Ghost, the slight delay between sight and audio. For a brief moment, Ghost watched the snowy skies in front of him become aglow with a barrage of flashing lights. In a weird sense, it was dreamlike. Mesmerizing. And then the sound hit him. Even with earmuffs on, the gunfire was deafeningly loud. It was like watching a fireworks display, except the pops were louder, harsher, and there would be no delighted children looking up at the air in awe.
He tried screaming at the others to take cover, but the combination of winter winds and cracking bullets was hard to cut through. Somewhere to his right, he heard Price yelling, but his words were constantly interrupted by the enemy’s fire. Ghost tried looking for the others, but suddenly the snow was too thick, the bullets too loud, his teammates too far away. He did the only thing he could: run to the treeline for cover.
Between the sheer magnitude of bullets being aimed at them, the time Ghost spent looking for his team, and the time it took him to get to the treeline, Ghost had taken more than a few hits. Nothing detrimental, thankfully, but he could feel the familiar sting of a bullet that brushed him a little too close than he would have liked. He keeled over against a tree, listening as bullets flew past his face or struck the thick wood behind him. He tried using his radio again but it was no use; he couldn’t get a signal.
He tried to turn around, but the gunfire was too constant. He couldn’t get a clear look. He swallowed down an unceremonious groan as he considered the situation. Returning fire was an option, of course, but not a smart one. Considering his lack of a decent vantage point and the fact that he couldn’t even clearly see where the shots were coming from, even the best sniper on the force — which was him — wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot. Besides, he only had so much ammo on him, and if the attack was coming from Zhelyazkov, which he assumed it was, then he was seriously outmatched in terms of equipment. The man was an ammunition dealer, for Christ’s sake, if he couldn’t shoot Ghost, he could certainly keep him waiting long enough for hypothermia to set in.
“Shit, Ghost!” he heard from his right. He turned to look, and there you were, sitting with your back against a tree and your rifle in your hands. He was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of you, before cursing himself under his breath. He was in the middle of being fired at, why was he letting you distract him? “Where’s everyone else?” you cried, your voice barely carrying over the roar of bullets.
“Safe, hopefully,” he yelled, “I didn’t see where they went.” He watched you shake your head, you were probably cursing to yourself right now.
“Did you see who was with Zhelyazkov?”
“There was someone with Zhelyazkov?”
“Not just someone,” you yelled, looking at him grimly, “Fishers.”
Ghost turned away from you, leaning his head against the tree. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, before turning to look at you again. “You sure?”
You didn’t say anything in response, only giving him a grave nod.
“God damn it,” he muttered. “Well, we don’t have time to worry about that, understand? Right now we just have to get somewhere safe.”
You nodded again, turning back to look at the source of the fire. “Most of the fire is coming from an MG3,” you called out, “they’ll have to change the barrel soon, we can move then.”
Ghost nodded at you, briefly looking back as well. It wasn’t long before the gunfire began to die down and the two of you moved from your positions in the trees, running further into the forest. But whoever was operating the gun was well-trained, and it didn’t take long for them to replace the barrel of the gun and restart the fire. Ghost ducked behind another tree, his eyes watching you do the same as he took a breath.
That was the only way the two of you could move for a long time. Waiting for what felt like painstakingly long minutes for the barrel to have to be changed, just to be able to run maybe a few yards before the spray of bullets picked up again and you had to take cover. It was a painstakingly slow process, and throughout all of it, Ghost couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t get to cover in time, and he would have to watch as you died in front of him. He also couldn’t stop worrying about the rest of the team. It concerned him that you were here but Price, Gaz, and Soap weren’t. If they had died when the gunfire started he would have been able to see their blood in the snow, he supposed, as if that thought was supposed to comfort him. It didn’t do much, and he could only hope that the three of them had at least found each other.
Finally though, the deafening roar of gunfire began to quiet down, either due to distance or to lack of ammunition, and Ghost felt like he could breathe again. “Are you alright?” he called out to you, quickly scanning over your body.
You nodded, your chest heaving as you gulped in the freezing air. “You?” He nodded. You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face. “What the hell happened back there?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed, stomping to you through the thick snow. “You get hit anywhere?” he asked, his hand reaching tentatively for a scrape on your face.
You reached for your own face, freezing his hand in its tracks. He might have been a weathered war veteran, but even he got nervous in front of people he liked. He watched you wipe the blood off your face and stare at it, “It’s fine,” you told him, “it’s just a scrape. Motherfucker must have clipped me.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t scar.”
“I don’t know, I think I’m pretty enough to pull off a face scar. What do you think?” you asked, the minx-like grin on your face providing a sharp contrast to the sheer gravity of the situation the two of you were in. That was another thing you did that distracted him. Those snarky quips and sly suggestions that made Ghosts stomach flip and his cheeks heat up.
“Stop worrying about appearances,” he chastised, trying to regain his focus, “we don’t have time.”
“You were the one that brought it up!” you cried, throwing your hands up.
“Quiet,” he said, “just because they stopped firing doesn’t mean we’re safe. For all we know they could have men on the ground looking for us.”
You dropped your hands to your side, “So now what do we do?”
He pursed his lips, surveying their surroundings. “We make our way to the secondary location as planned. Look at the tree branches,” he said, gesturing above him, “trees will grow their branches towards the direction that gets the most sun: south. The secondary location was north of the drop site and we’ve been traveling in a relatively straight line. If we keep moving in this direction we should come across it in an hour or so.”
You chewed on your lip, “Do we even know if it’s safe? Fishers was with Zhelyazkov, for all we know we could be walking straight into an ambush.”
“You sure it was Fishers?”
“Yes, it couldn’t have been anyone else.”
“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Ghost asked again, “the snow was thick, I couldn’t even see anything besides Gaz and Johnny.”
“I’m sure,” you insisted, “Me and Price were at the front, we saw the wall of Zhelyazkov’s compound. One of his cronies was up there with Fishers. He was standing next to an MG3 and pointing at us, I know it. I would recognize that stupid cowlick anywhere.”
Ghost groaned. Fishers wasn’t someone Ghost had known very well, so at the very least he was spared the painful feeling of being betrayed by someone he cared about — not that his feelings mattered. The traitor, Colten Fishers, was an American soldier. A veteran to military service, no doubt, but still considered a rookie in special operations. The official report would probably say that Fishers turned in exchange for some quick cash, that he was a cowardly traitor who betrayed them, but that answer didn’t satisfy Ghost.
Honestly, Ghost wasn’t even sure how Fishers had gotten onto the task force in the first place. Compared to the rest of the people on the team, Fishers’ resume was weak, his experience was subpar and his track record was a little too spotty for his liking. The fact that Fishers’ was even in a place to betray them worried him, almost more than the actual betrayal, because if Fishers was able to get on the task force with his lackluster résumé then that meant he had bad friends in high places.
“God damn it,” he muttered, “you have a point, but there’s not much else we can do. The more time we spend out here the more likely we are to get shot.”
“Or get hypothermia,” you said.
“Or get hypothermia,” he added. He reached for his radio, clicking it on only to be met with static again. “Bravo team, this is Bravo 0-7, do you copy?” No response.
“They probably set up signal blockers,” you pointed out, “either that or the storm is so bad it’s messing with our signal.”
He groaned, “Does yours work?” he asked.
“No,” you said, gesturing lamely at the damaged radio next to your chest, “motherfuckers clipped it while I was looking for Price. Scared the shit out of me too, thought they had gotten me right in the chest for a second.”
He walked up to you, bending down as he inspected the broken radio. He could feel you suck in a breath, and for a moment he let himself wonder if he gave you butterflies the same way you did to him. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at you, his mask inches away from your face, “this thing’s been shot to hell, there’s no way it’s gonna get a signal, even without a storm.” He lingered for a split second, captivated by the way your eyes stared up at him, large and round like a marble, before pulling back.
“Let’s get a move on,” he said, adjusting his rifle. “We can’t afford to be stuck out here when night falls.”
Walking in the snow was hard, walking in the snow and feeling you glance over at him every other minute was even harder. He didn’t want to look at you, well that was a lie, he did want to look at you, but he knew he shouldn’t look at you. He needed to put on a brave face, that was his job as a lieutenant. He needed to be serious, to have a plan, to not get hung up on distractions, and he couldn’t do that when he was watching you.
Instead, he tried to think about everything that could go wrong from this point. It seemed pessimistic, he knew, but he needed to be prepared. You had a point about the second location. While Fishers hadn’t been told everything about the mission, he knew enough to severely compromise them. Besides, if he did have one of the higher-ups on his side, there was no telling how much he knew. The secondary location had once been a logger’s cabin; it was small, kitted with only the bare necessities. A bathroom, a small kitchenette, and an empty bedroom they had planned to keep Zhelyazkov in. In other words, it wasn’t an easy place to set up an ambush. But they could’ve rigged the outside, set up tripwires connected to shotguns or planted mines along the perimeter. The forest around it was dense, which once would’ve been helpful to keep them hidden but now only provided a wide array of hiding spots for Zhelyazkov’s men to hide in.
Additionally, there was no telling how many men Zhelyazkov would have waiting for them. Even by himself, Ghost could hold his own and with you, their chances only increased. But Zhelyazkov practically had an army, and it would only take one well-aimed shot before it was all over. Granted, some of his men would likely be looking for the others, and if they also went to the cabin, the five of them could probably hold their own.
But there was no guaranteeing the others were heading to the cabin, let alone breathing. For all Ghost knew, their team of five could’ve been cut down to two long ago. “What are you thinking about?” you asked, pulling Ghost out of his thoughts.
He turned to look at you for the first time since you had started walking. There were snowflakes on your eyelashes and your face was tinged red from the cold. He wanted to be able to cradle your jaw, to warm you up until your face was flushed from something other than the cold weather. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, that you would always be safe when you were with him, that he would kill anyone who tried to touch you and would do anything for a chance to hold you. “Just thinking about what you said earlier,” he said instead, “about Zhelyazkov ambushing us.”
You hummed, “Me too. I don’t know how likely that is anymore though.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I mean think about it,” you said, “we flew over the cabin on our way here and everything looked fine, no footprints or anything. And by the time we did that and the time they started shooting, maybe ten minutes had passed. That would mean Zhelyazkov had ten minutes to get his men there, and they wouldn’t have been able to take a direct route or else they would’ve ran into us. Besides, why waste his manpower by setting up an ambush we might not even show up for? I mean, the plan was probably to kill us all right from the beginning, so why plan for us showing up at the cabin if we’re not even supposed to be alive? I mean, who in their right mind would do that?”
“Let’s not assume Zhelyazkov is in his right mind. It’s thinking like that that gets people killed,” he said, harsher than he intended. “Not that you don’t have a point,” he added when he saw you look down in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he had fallen into that mindset before and he knew how dangerous it was. “For Zhelyazkov to waste his manpower on an ambush would be tactically unwise, you’re right, but we don’t want to go in expecting an empty house and get caught off guard.”
“So then what? We go in expecting to get immediately gunned down by another machine gun? How is that any better? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to prepare for that.”
Ghost grimaced, once again, you had a point. “Still, it’s better to be prepared,” was all he could say. You looked at him as if you wanted to say more, but your mouth stayed shut and your eyes turned to focus ahead of you once again.
The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of crunching snow to indicate that anyone was even in the forest at all. After what felt like ages, Ghost paused, holding out a hand to stop you too. He felt you looking at him, but he didn’t respond. He was studying your surroundings, scrutinizing the snow on the ground before searching the skies.
“What is it?” you finally asked in a hushed whisper.
“Checking for traps,” he said, his gravelly voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. “The cabin should be just beyond that treeline,” he whispered, pointing. You followed his hand, but you couldn’t see anything behind the dense wall of tree trunks. “Let’s go,” he said, “get your gun out.” You complied, mirroring him as he unshouldered his rifle and held it against his chest. He turned to look at you, your lips pursed into a tight line and your hair sprinkled with snowflakes. He wished you weren’t at risk of walking into an ambush, that way he could capture the way you looked with a camera.
He began slowly stalking towards the cabin, cursing to himself at the snow crunching under his feet. He arrived at the edge of the treeline, coming onto an open clearing with the small wood cabin at the very center. His head swiveled around, constantly checking for the familiar glint of gunmetal hiding in the trees. He turned back to you, “Let’s split up,” he said quietly, his voice muffled by his mask. “I’ll go left, you go right. Meet in the back and then sweep the house.” He watched you nod, and his eyes followed you briefly as you began to move in the opposite direction before he returned his focus to the task at hand.
The perimeter of the clearing wasn’t necessarily large, but it still took him a painfully long time to reach the back. “You see anything?” he asked when you arrived. You shook your head, and he cocked his head towards the cabin. “Let’s go,” he said, turning back to check on you as the two of you made your way towards the front of the house.
There was a small porch on the front, with a pair of steps leading up to it. Ghost skipped them, choosing to step over them and go straight to the porch. You weren’t so smart, and when you put your weight on the first step, it squealed and groaned. Ghost whipped around at the sound, and you rolled your eyes back and cringed, “Shit,” you muttered quietly.
The two of you were frozen for a second, you with your foot still on the step and Ghost with his eyes trained on the door. When nothing happened, you lifted your foot and stepped over the stairs, copying Ghost like you should have before. When you were both on the porch, Ghost gestured for you to open the door. You reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly before swinging it open.
Ghost walked in, his rifle swiveling as he made his way to the bathroom. He could hear you following behind him, the snow on your boots crunching slightly as you went to the bedroom. He swung open the door of the bathroom, only to be met with his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. His helmet was covered in snow, only accentuating the darkness of his eyes. When he had confirmed that the room was empty, he exited, watching as you came out from the bathroom.
“It’s clear,” you said, before he could ask.
“That’s a relief,” he said, letting out a sigh, but he didn’t lower his rifle.
“You think the others will be coming here too?” you asked, looking around the tiny house.
He wanted to say yes, but honestly he had no clue. The forest was huge, and he had no idea where the others might have been. They could be looking for the cabin as well, but there was no guarantee they’d find it.
He took off his helmet and cracked his neck. “Night’s about to fall, get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” he said instead, reaching into his pack and tossing you a bedroll.
You caught it easily, but made no move to set it down. “It’s fine,” you told him, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep, you deserve the rest.”
“That wasn’t a request,” he said sternly, causing you to roll your eyes.
“Yeah, yeah it’s an order, isn’t it? Geez, you sound like Price.”
“Price is right. You need your sleep, a sniper could spot your eyebags from a mile away.”
“Rude,” you shot back, “and by that logic, wouldn’t a sniper be able to see you from, like, two miles away from all of your eyeblack?
“If they see me, they’re already dead.”
“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I’m so scared.”
“You should be.”
“Whatever,” you sighed, “I’m gonna take a shower then, you got any soap?”
He threw you a small plastic container, “Suave three-in-one? What are you, a high school boy?” you asked, shooting him an incredulous look.
This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, “Beggars can’t be choosers, darling, you want luxury toiletries bring them yourself.”
You were silent for a moment, and Ghost started to feel worry bubble up in his chest. He didn’t mean to say that nickname out loud, it just happened. He was exhausted and paranoid and hungry and he was stuck in a room he could cross in about ten steps and it just slipped out. And if this was how it ended, in this stupid, tiny, suffocating house that could have gone in so many other directions; if he ruined everything because he couldn’t control himself, he would have never forgiven himself.
“You think I’m darling?” you asked with a grin, and Ghost could practically feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders.
“Just go take your shower,” he said, but even he could hear the smile in his voice.
“You sure you don’t want to join me?” you asked, pulling out a towel from your bag. Ghost stilled. He could tell you were just joking, you had to be. But there had to be at least some truth in it, otherwise you wouldn’t have even thought to say that right? Suddenly the house felt uncomfortably warm. It was too small, too cramped, too stuffy. He thought the house’s lack of heating would have been a problem, but for some reason it felt like there were a thousand heaters in this tiny room.
“Geez, Ghost,” you said, giggling, “I was just messing with you. Dang, is it really that easy to get you speechless? Guess I have a new party trick to show the others when we get back.”
He stared at you, trying to come up with something to say. “I’m gonna set up outside,” he said finally, changing the topic, “leave the soap in the shower, will you?”
You hummed, slinging the towel over your back. He watched you step into the bathroom, his eyes lingering on the door as it shut behind you. He could hear the shower turn on, but he made himself leave before he could hear your clothes come off.
The crisp, winter air provided a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere of the house. The frigid winds nipped at his eyes and he could feel a shiver rack through his chest but he didn’t mind it. It was refreshing, feeling the freezing air fill his lungs and watching his breath condense in front of him. He sat down on the porch steps and reached for his rifle, checking the magazine. He picked out one of the bullets, thumbing it thoughtfully as he stared at the snowstorm in front of him. He put the bullet back and looked back at the house, making sure that you weren’t around before he pulled off his mask. He let out a sigh, thumbing the hard plastic skull in his hands and letting the frosty air kiss at his exposed skin before pulling the soft, black, skull-marked balaclava he wore normally out of his bag and over his face.
Ghost wasn’t the kind of person to let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people did, Soap did, Gaz did, even Price did, but not him. It was just easier that way, he never really had a good place for his mind to wander to anyways. His mind had a tendency to lurk around dark places, and it always left him worse than he started. Once, he had tried to speak to someone about it, and that had only ended up with another dead body to his name. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on the task in front of him: watching the treeline for enemy soldiers.
Somehow though, you started to linger around the edge of his thoughts, and he didn’t push you away. He kept staring ahead at the snow-covered trees, but in his mind he was seeing you. He was seeing your stupid teasing grin, your fidgeting fingers that never stayed still, that smooth skin on the junction of your neck and your shoulder that he wanted to kiss and lick and bite. He could almost see your lust-drunk face in front of him, starry-eyed and teary, your lips swollen and red from how hard he would kiss you. He could practically hear you under him, all breathy and pitchy, your voice raw from how much he would make you beg for him. God, he knew he needed to stop these thoughts but he needed you more. He needed you pressed against him, your skin warm and soft and supple, he needed to feel you on top of him, to be inside you. He needed to know how it would feel to have your mouth around him, your eyes lidded as you stared up at—
“Hey,” you said, tiredness leaking through your voice. Ghost suppressed the urge to jump, turning to look at you. “You see anything interesting?” you asked, taking a seat beside you.
“Nothing,” he said, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way he had to slightly readjust his pants. You didn’t, thank god, for a special forces operator you surely weren’t the most observant, but he wasn’t complaining. You weren’t wearing much, only a pair of thin pajama pants, a tank top, and a hoodie. He was surprised you weren’t shivering.
He could feel you staring at him, partly because of the way your warm breath fanned over him and partly because you stared at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. He had to fight the urge to look back at you because he knew if he did, you would be able to see the star-struck in his eyes. “You need something?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.
You turned away from him, your eyes scanning the treeline. “Not really,” you hummed, “but it’s lonely inside, can’t sleep.”
“Lonely?”
“Well— Not lonely, but— I don’t know. It’s just… unsettling, I guess.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” he said, with a slight chuckle.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snorted.
“It means I’ve seen you do things that would make a grown man cry and you're scared of sleeping alone.”
“Uh, that is not it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m not scared, I’d just rather stay out here. Besides, it’s easier to fall asleep in the cold.”
“Is it really?” he asked teasingly, “or do you just like me that much?”
You yawned, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He tensed up at first, but when he realized how nice it was to feel you against him, he relaxed. “You got me pegged, Ghost,” you said tiredly. He had to suppress a groan when he saw the way you looked up at him. Your eyes were large and slightly damp from the yawn, and he could see the smallest speckle of teardrops on your eyelids. Everything about you was just so damn intoxicating, and for what? It wasn’t like he could act on it like he wanted to. He couldn’t push your slightly damp hair out of your face like he wanted to, he couldn’t run his hands up your body and squeeze you in all the right spots like he wanted to, he couldn’t push you down against a table and fuck you until you cried out for him like he wanted to. He wanted to do so much to you and he just couldn’t.
“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice sweet and tired.
He stared at you, it’s not like he could tell the truth but it hurt him so bad to lie to your face. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re interesting,” you said simply.
“Am I?”
“Mhm,” you hummed, staring back at him, “are you gonna give me an answer?”
“Not tonight. You gonna sleep out here?” he asked, watching as you let out a yawn.
“Do you want me to?” you asked, picking your head up off his shoulder and staring up at him.
Ghost was silent for a moment, “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said finally. You gave him a sleepy smile which made his heart melt before resting your head against his shoulder again. “Aren’t you cold? You’re barely wearing anything and your hair is still wet, you’re gonna catch a cold.”
You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder, “Now you really sound like Price,” you mumbled, voice muffled by his jacket.
“And Price is right, again. You’re gonna get sick or catch hypothermia, go get a blanket,” he said, nudging you off of his shoulder gently. He didn’t want to have to push you away, especially since you looked so comfortable, but he was worried for your health. In this weather and in this line of work, catching a cold could have unforeseen effects, and god forbid you get hypothermia. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of Ghost, shooting him a pointed look as you turned back into the house. He turned back to the treeline, trying to remember the way your head leaned against his shoulder. He could still feel the shadow of your touch against him, the warmth and the weight of it. He wanted it back again, regretting sending you off.
It wasn’t long until you returned though, carrying a large wool blanket. “Happy now?” you asked, quirking your brow up at him as you returned to your spot beside him. “I stole it from the bedroom, figured nobody else would be using it.” You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, pulling your knees in so you could cover them too. You let your head fall back on his shoulder again. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sky.
He looked up, he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but you had a point. The sky was a dark sapphire blue, punctuated by a canyon of stars down the center. Even with the snow falling, the beauty of the stars shone through, their light bright and blinding. He let his eyes wander down to you for a moment, and he could see the night sky reflected in your glassy eyes. Your eyes flickered to his and you grinned, “Like what you see, L.T.?” you asked.
Ghost looked away, “Go to sleep,” he said, missing the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance at him.
Although he wasn’t looking directly at you, he could still see you in his periphery. He could feel you too. Feel the way you nuzzled into his shoulder, one of your arms snaking up to wrap around his like you were a koala clinging onto a branch. Feel the way your chest rose and fell against him as you breathed, small puffs of air condensing in front of you. He could feel the soft flutter of your eyelids on his arm as you buried your face into his shoulder, trying to shield your face from the cold. It wasn’t long before your breaths began to even out next to him, the puffs of condensed air arriving slower and more evenly.
He turned to look at you again, his eyes raking over your body. The blanket pulled tightly around you, your hair which fell slightly in front of your face, your lips which he swore were pulled in the smallest smile, the bridge of your nose, the ends of your eyelashes, that little scrunch in between your eyebrows. You were the most beautiful thing in that moment, stars be damned. He would’ve given anything to be able to snap a photo of you right now, but he couldn’t, so he resorted to tattooing the image of you into his brain. Not that it was hard, looking at you, admiring you, treasuring you, it was the easiest thing he would ever do.
Ghost shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to you, not here, not when you were so vulnerable and he was supposed to be keeping watch, to be protecting you. It wasn’t right. But wasn’t it? Couldn’t it be? It felt right, and he wanted it to be right. He needed it to be right. He had spent so much time focusing on everyone else; what was safe for everyone else, what was healthy for everyone else, what was right for everyone else. But now, just now, couldn’t he just focus on himself for once? Couldn’t he just be selfish for once, to savor and relish in this moment? You were here and you were safe, and he was here and he was safe, and wasn’t that all that mattered in this tiny moment devoid of reason or time or outsiders? This had to be right. This was right. You were right. You always were.
He looked back at the stars again, taking in a deep breath as he savored the smell of you. You smelled like gunmetal and cheap soap. You smelled like him. He let your fragrance continue to fill his nose as he stared up at the sky. He watched in awe as a streak of bright light arced across the vast canvas of dark blue sky: a shooting star. He thought back to what his mother used to tell him in the backyard of their old flat in Manchester. “Look Simon,” she would say, tracing the path of the star’s tail with her finger, “that’s a shooting star. You make a wish, and you don’t tell anyone, and then it comes true.” Back then, he used to wish for allowance, new toys, a pot roast for dinner, one time for his dad to go away. They never came true, and he knew it was because he always told his mom what he wished for.
This time though, this time would be different. He would keep it a secret until the day he died. Another weight for him to carry, but one that would be worth it if it came true. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he wished for that night, with your sleeping form against him, soft and warm and comforting. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he wished you would love him like he loved you.
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader
Type: Angst
Summary: Simon’s finally home, so you should be happy right? Wrong.
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: anxiety, stress, tbh probably signs of depression too, pasta consuption (sorry ppl who r gluten free), explicit language
A/N: bruh. um. barely beta-read we die like men. yes i said i would be back by january yes i lied. definitely 100% not inspired by real life. tl;dr i hate mock trial, all the guys at my school are boring or annoying, and i’m on the verge. enjoy :)
It felt wrong to say, like really wrong, like going against every single thing you knew to be right and good with the world wrong, but Simon was really hurting you right now. Part of the reason why it felt so wrong to say was because it wasn’t even Simon’s fault. It wasn’t anything that he was or wasn’t doing that was hurting you, and there wasn’t anything he could or couldn’t do to make you feel better.
You felt terrible, even though you should’ve been feeling amazing, even though you should’ve been feeling ecstatic that after so long of being away on duty, he was finally back home, back in your bed, back in your arms. You felt guilty. You felt guilty because he was here and you should be happy and you should have been cherishing him and spending as much time as you could with him, and for some reason you couldn’t.
There was something hanging over your head, some insufferable, suffocating, terrifying cloud of stress and anxiety following you around that made you want to burst into tears at any second, and you didn’t even know why. You just felt bad. And Simon didn’t deserve that, not after everything he had been through, all the horrors he had seen. He deserved someone happy, someone who could cheer him up and smile with him, not someone who couldn’t even figure out what was making them feel like this.
It was horrible, how every time you saw him sleeping or washing the dishes or reading a book, your stomach twisted and the lump in your throat grew, how even just the sight of him made you feel so guilty for feeling bad around him, which of course just only made you feel worse, and therefore more guilty.
It was exhausting, and you wanted nothing more than to break down and cry and let it all out, but you couldn’t. Simon didn’t deserve to have to deal with that, he didn’t deserve to have to help you figure out what was making you feel like this when you didn’t even know how to tackle it on your own.
And even though you hated to admit it, you were secretly counting down the days until he left for duty again. Until you had another chance to put yourself back together and finally greet him with a sincere smile and a warm hug like you should’ve been able to do when he first came back. You just needed a chance to sort yourself out, a second chance.
Which is why when he said he had important news to tell you tonight, a tiny part of you lit up with excitement, shamefully praying that maybe, just maybe, he had to go back to whatever classified base he had spent the last five months at. And it made you sick that you were thinking that, that you wanted him gone so badly, but you couldn’t help it. It was so exhausting to smile at him and nod along to his conversations and act like you didn’t want to just drop off the face of the earth.
And now here he was, wearing a way-too-small ‘kiss the cook’ apron you had gotten him as a gag gift, standing in front of the stove while something that smelled way to good to be shitty Chinese takeout — your normal meal for when he told you he had to leave again — and you couldn’t help the way your stomach dropped when he turned around with one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen him wear on his face.
If he noticed the faint terror on your face, he didn’t mention it, instead taking your bag off of you and ushering you to the dining table, where he placed a delicious smelling plate of pasta in front of you and urged you to try it. Putting on a smile, you reached for your fork, but time seemed to slow down as you tried to take a bite out of the pasta. You felt like some invisible force was squeezing down on you, slowing your movements as it pressured you to put on a happy face for Simon. When you finally took a bite, you didn’t taste anything. You knew it wasn’t the food itself; it smelled delicious and it looked like it’d taste like heaven, but the dread bubbling in your stomach was all-consuming.
But Simon needed this, and you knew he needed this, so you closed your eyes and tossed your head back like it was the most delicious thing you had ever had. You groaned, “This… this is delicious, Simon. How did you make it?”
You tried to be happy at how relieved he looked at what you said, but instead it just made you feel more guilty. You watched as his hand reached for the back of his neck, something he always did whenever you complimented him, and his lips moved around in some slurry of words. You couldn’t hear anything, or at least your brain wasn’t processing it. You were too focused on making it seem like you were absorbing every single thing he said, like everything was fine.
At a certain point he sat down across from you, and you watched him fold a napkin neatly over his lap as he got ready to eat.
“What was that news you wanted to tell me about?” You asked, surprising yourself.
“Oh right,” Simon said, before quickly taking a bite of food. You tried to ignore the way your stomach dropped as his next sentence — although garbled and unclear due to the food he was eating — left his mouth. You had just heard him wrong, right? Yes, that had to be it. It was just your ears playing tricks on you, nothing more. Right?
“Um,” you said, swallowing, “what did you say?” You tried to put on a good face when you said that, a face that said ‘I’m so happy’ and not ‘I think this may send me over the edge,’ but by the way Simon’s chewing stopped abruptly you could tell you failed.
You watched as he swallowed slowly, setting down his fork and wiping his mouth neatly before continuing. “I said… I said I won’t have to leave for another four months.”
There was no hiding it now. As soon as the words left his mouth you felt a wave of emotion crash over you, and before you knew it you were crying. You felt embarrassed. Although it was blurred by tears, you could see Simon’s face just a few feet away from you. He was sitting quietly still, a complete opposite to your shaking, sobbing, body.
You could hear him call out your name, which just made you cry even harder. You didn’t know why you were doing this, you wanted so badly to stop, to just shut up, to not embarrass yourself any further, but you couldn’t. It was like you didn’t have control over your body anymore. You felt like your body was being tossed around by the cruel waves of emotion. You didn’t know how to do anything but cry. It was washing over you and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. You could feel the cold air burn your lungs as you tried to gasp for some sort of breath, but nothing helped.
For a moment, you thought you were better, but then you felt Simon’s hand on your back and you were drowning again. The way your cries grew louder and the sobs racked through your body harder when he wrapped his arms around you made you feel terrible, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. So many emotions were battering your body: shame, exhaustion, dismay, embarrassment, love, fear.
At a certain point though, your cries began to quiet down. You became aware of Simon’s hand stroking the back of your head and the strong cocoon he had wrapped you in. Your heart rate began to slow down, and the only evidence that you had been crying was the still damp tracks down your cheeks and the erratic hiccups that jolted through your body.
You felt Simon’s chest rise like he was going to say something, and a spark of anxiety raced through your body again. You didn’t want to talk about this. You wanted to pretend this never happened. You wanted to grab your things and leave. You wanted to come back the next morning with two coffees — one black, just like he likes it, and one with way so much cream and sugar it’s almost inedible just because you know it pisses him off — and start talking about how he has to watch James Gunn’s Suicide Squad because it’s so much better than the one with Jared Leto.
But instead of asking if you wanted to talk about it or if you were okay or some other anxiety-inducing conversation starter that would only lead to more tears and confusion, all he said was “Do you wanna go to sleep?”
And for a moment you didn’t say anything, but then you slowly nodded your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist as he picked you up. He didn’t say anything as he brought you to your bedroom or when he helped you change into your pajamas or when he pulled the covers over you and pulled you close to his chest. And yet, even though he was a man typically shrouded in mystery and confusion, you could tell by how tight he was holding you that he was telling you something, even if it wasn’t out loud.
He was telling you that it would be okay, that he knew you could get through this, and that even if it wasn’t he would be there with you. And it wouldn’t be suffocating anymore and you wouldn’t have to feel like you had to hide things from him, you could just be, and he would be there for you. And that was all you needed as you drifted off to sleep.
