note: requested by @wetsocksinbed :D this fic came to me in a prophetic vision as soon as i read that ask, all i have to say is i was cackling maniacally while writing it. bon apetit.
pairing: john 'soap's mactavish x gn!reader
wc: 4.4k
summary: soap is scared of dogs, you're a k9 handler. your dog is good at finding bodies, he doesn't ever want him to have to find yours.
warnings: angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence
ao3
soap has never liked dogs.
when people ask him why, he tells them that it's just how he is. he wasn't bitten by one, it's not a trauma response, he just doesn't like them, plain and simple. being in the military and having a phobia of dogs is like painting a giant red target on his forehead, so in the interest of not getting relentlessly made fun of, he keeps it to himself.
until recently, it hasn't been a problem.
then you came along, with your quick wit and charming smile, and he was a goner from the moment you first met.
price had given them your files, told them you and your partner are on loan to the one-four-one for the next few months while they track down a particularly slippery target. the term partner had initially disappointed soap, but then you'd both marched into the room with your heads held high, and he realised;
oh. your partner is a dog.
a german shepherd, to be precise. you're a canine handler, like the universe is playing a trick on him – he hasn't been genuinely interested in someone in god knows how long, and when he finally finds somebody, you're accompanied at all hours by one of the few things he fears.
he's about ready to give up on pursuing you before the briefing is even over, but as the others all stand and file out of the meeting room, your partner comes bounding up to him in all his fanged, furry glory and soap almost has a heart attack.
"he doesn't usually trust strangers," you told him as your dog sits at his feet and wags his tail so hard it might be at risk of dislocation. johnny’s moments away from bolting, the fear climbing up his nerves like constricting vines.
"lucky me, eh?" he smiles at you, which was honestly more like a grimace, but somehow you're not offended by his obvious dislike of your partner. you let out a laugh, and the sound is so melodic he almost forgets about the beast waiting at his heel.
"you can pet him," you grin knowingly, and soap gets the sinking feeling you've figured him out already, "he doesn't bite – not unless i tell him to."
"cheers, but i'll pass…" johnny attempts to protest, in the motion of taking a step back, but you grab his hand before he can escape and drag it down to your dog's face with an amused grin.
"his name's rex." he hears you say, but the way your dog is sniffing at his hand has every muscle in his body tensing involuntarily. he's mortified that you're seeing him react like this, he already knows he'll never be able to live this down once the others find out.
when rex chuffs and starts to lick at his hand, johnny feels like his soul might leave his body. the sharp teeth so close to his skin is so unnerving, the only thing stopping him from making a run for it is your soft grip still around his wrist.
he looks to you for help, but you're watching him with a mischievous grin that sends his heart aflutter.
"see? that wasn't so bad." you chuckle, crouching down next to your dog and thankfully taking rex's attention off him. johnny breathes a quiet sigh of relief, wiping his wet hand on his trousers as he watches you fuss over the canine.
you're endearing, and johnny has to admit that seeing you coo at rex like he's a baby makes him slightly less terrifying.
"price put you up to this?" he asks, holding back a flinch when rex looks up at the sound of his voice.
"he did." you nod, standing back up and meeting his eyes again. "but rex actually does like you. guess you're just charming like that."
"well, thank god for that…" johnny grumbles, his voice dripping with sarcasm. you laugh again, and with the way his pulse quickens, he can't help but send you a cocky grin. "but what i wanna know is, do you like me?"
"hmm…" you feign indecision with a poorly concealed smirk, tapping a finger on your chin before leaning closer and placing a hand on his bicep. "i may need a little more convincing."
after that, johnny can hardly keep himself away from you.
whenever you're next to him he's got an arm slung over your shoulder, you’re always talking – texting when you’re apart – and any free time he has is spent following you around base, not unlike rex at your heel.
you ask him if he wants to watch you when you train rex, and initially he tries to say no, because he thinks seeing rex practising attacking people might break whatever spell you've cast that makes him not hate the dog; but you drag him along anyway, and he ends up being glad that you did.
it's fascinating, watching rex sniff a shirt from your hand and track down whoever it belongs to with expert precision. it looks almost like a game to the canine, the way his tail swings back and forth the whole time as he effortlessly completes any task you give him.
he finds the dummies you hide with ease, even when they're buried under piles of boxes and clothes and various other obstacles. johnny actually finds himself respecting the dog, which is shocking since a few weeks ago he never would've been able to handle even being in the same room as one.
you give johnny the treats to feed rex, which makes him nervous all over again when the canine looks up at him with wide eyes and all his sharp teeth on display. it takes some coaxing from you, but eventually he gets comfortable enough to let rex take a treat from his hand. he may not admit it, but the only reason he even lets rex get so close is because you're there. simply your presence gives him the courage, makes him feel secure.
"when this is over," johnny begins, hand twitching under rex's tongue and looking at you with such fondness it feels like his heart is about to burst, "i'll take you out proper, treat you right."
you blink at him, surprised, but not a moment later a wide smile is taking over your face. "i look forward to it, mactavish."
the others, particularly gaz and ghost, give him hell for how infatuated he's become with you, but their teasing doesn't deter him. he likes you, and he doesn't care if everybody knows it; you like him too, and that's all he really cares about.
now, sitting in the heli on the way to what they hope will be the final location for this mission, he was almost disappointed to be done with it. you were only on loan for this mission, so once they have their target, you'd be gone. he was hoping, optimistically, that once everything was said and done he could convince you to stay with the one-four-one. he was sure he could talk price into it, and though it was selfish of him, he just wanted you to stay by his side.
you're sitting next to him in the back of the aircraft, rex between your legs with his head resting on your thigh, staring up at johnny with those big brown eyes. without even thinking, he reaches a hand out and ruffles the fur on his head, earning a nudge and an adoring smile from you when he looks over.
"he might like you better than me," you tease, scratching behind rex's ear who was yet to take his eyes off of johnny.
"don't be jealous now, bonnie." he chuckles, returning the nudge to your shoulder. "you can have 'im on weekends."
you grin again and lightly shake your head, taking rex's face in your hands and bending over to press a kiss to the top of his head. "you love me the most, right boy?"
before long, the helicopter is landing and the five of you – plus rex – are following the captain out into the forest. it's cold when they exit the heli, night vision goggles highlighting the terrain through the darkness of the night.
the silence buzzes as you all stalk through the trees. johnny pays more attention to you than he should as you walk beside him, anxiety lighting up his nerves for how this mission will go.
as according to the plan, once the manor is in sight, you all split off into teams of two; him and ghost, price and gaz, and you and rex. he trusted you to do well, like you have been doing for the last few months, but he can't help the way his shoulders tense as he watches you disappear around the corner.
the building is guarded, which was expected of course, but they only had to take down a dozen or so guards until the place was barren.
the corridors were eerily deserted, bathed in a moonlit glow as johnny crept around the manor, following closely behind ghost with both of their heads on a swivel. the radio was quiet, by design for the mission plan, but somehow this time felt different, like they wouldn't hear him if he did call out.
it's the beeping that gives it away. so faint, he almost missed it, but his senses are sharpened like a blade – and as a demolitions specialist, he knows the sound of an explosive when he hears it.
johnny carefully pushes open the door to his right, scanning the room for any movement and finding none, but when his gaze lands on the centre of the room, his pulse skips a beat.
propane canisters, fuse linking them all together, and most concerning, a timer on top blinking at him; two minutes, ticking down with a sickening green glow.
"ghost," he calls, his voice hard and serious as the anxiety builds again, "it's rigged."
ghost steps into the doorway next to him, following johnny's arm as he points to the device.
"fuck." he spits, stepping back and clicking the radio on his vest, but no sound comes out. ghost curses again, looking back to johnny with a tense expression that the sergeant mirrors. "radios aren't workin' either. let's move, c'mon."
there's no room for argument in his tone, marching back the way they came with johnny in tow.
as they emerge back out into the night, price and gaz appear from around the corner, both lifting their goggles and approaching with concern evident on their faces.
"what happened?" price's gaze darts around behind them as he speaks, as if waiting for someone to jump out and attack.
"the place is rigged, we have to go." ghost explains, already moving past them and away from the manor.
the captain nods, gesturing for johnny and gaz to follow as he tries his radio with no luck, just like ghost. the pit of anxiety lingered, getting heavier by the second.
"move it, soap." price commands, a deep frown creasing his brow.
but johnny doesn't move. "hold on, where's k-9?" he asks, a frown of his own pulling his features downwards.
"radios are down, we don't have time to look for 'em." ghost calls over to them, earning a solemn nod from the captain, who tries to move him with a hand on his shoulder.
the radios are down, you have no way of knowing the building is rigged. there's no way johnny's about to leave you on your own in the blind, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did.
"no. i'm not leavin' without 'em." johnny growls, his face morphing into a frown as he brushes off the captain's arm and turns to go back inside.
"they might already be outside." gaz tries to reason, stepping in front of him and blocking him from the doorway. kyle's regretful gaze cuts through him, and there's the distinct feeling that everyone else has already given up on you. "we have to move, mate."
johnny scoffs. "fuck that! i can't just leave 'em!" he hisses, insulted by the very idea of leaving one of their own to fend for themselves. no, that's not how they operate, that's not how he operates.
a flash of anger shoots through him and he's about to shove past gaz, but before he can move, price is yanking him away.
"soap!" he growls, shaking him slightly as he grabs johnny's other arm. "get it together, you are not goin' back in there."
before he can argue, he's being grabbed by ghost and dragged away from the manor with him as the other two jog ahead of them into the treeline.
"oi!" johnny shouts, struggling in the lieutenants iron grip, but to no avail. ghost practically drags him along as he digs his heels into the dirt, writhing in an attempt to escape and go back for you.
he's desperate, he can't lose you, not before he takes you on that date, he promised, you can't die yet–
johnny blinks, the deep, rumbling boom completely derailing his thoughts and starting a piercing ringing in his ears.
white hot fire bursts from the windows of the manor, showering the surrounding area in shards of glass and debris as the heat escapes the building in waves.
no.
everything seemed to stop around him. ghost stopped trying to drag him away, the trees stopped blowing in the wind, he almost stopped breathing. the world pauses as the walls of the manor are engulfed in flames.
no.
johnny rips his arm out of ghost's grip and stumbles back towards the manor, his mind floating out of his body.
"no!" johnny wails, ignoring the heat on his face and taking a shaky step over the jagged stone and glass that crunches under his boot, "no! they're still–" his voice breaks, "they're still in there, for fucks sake!"
"johnny!" ghost shouts, grabbing him by the strap on the back of his vest and yanking him sharply away from the blaze. "they're gone." he mutters, purposefully avoiding soap's glassy eyes.
"shut the fuck up!" he cries, thumping his fist against ghost's chest and clawing at the arm holding him back. the tears spill from his eyes hard and fast, constricting his throat and blurring his vision.
he falls to his knees with his head in his hands and ghost lets him, the debris that litters the ground sharp against his flesh, but nothing compared to the pain in his chest.
it wasn't supposed to go like this.
you were supposed to come back, and he was supposed to take you out and give you a perfect date and he'd kiss you at the end of the night and now he'd never get to do any of that because–
you're gone. slipped through his fingers like sand into the ocean.
"c'mon, johnny." he hears ghost mutter, his voice distant even though he's right there, pulling him to stand by his arm. "let's regroup."
he doesn't struggle this time, shaking himself free of his lieutenant's grip and shuffling past him with his head hanging low. if there was a god, he's sure they're laughing at him by now. it all felt like some kind of cruel joke; give him hope by granting him someone to love after all these lonely years, and then rip you out of his arms before he can know the happiness you would bring him.
he and ghost don't get far before he hears the lieutenant stop in his tracks, but he doesn't care to know why, the hollow feeling in his chest won't allow him to.
"the dog…" ghost utters from behind him, an air of disbelief in his monotone voice. johnny freezes, a cold dread travelling up his spine as he hears the unmistakable sound of rex's claws padding towards them.
he turns slowly on his heel, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.
your dog is standing in front of him.
"rex…?" he calls softly, taking in the dust and ash and dirt and blood caked into his rich brown fur, illuminated by the fire still raging. rex barks, tilting his head like he's confused, and johnny falls to his knees again, uncaring for the way the rubble tears through his trousers and his skin. "no, no no no no–"
rex is alone. you're not with him. he doesn't go anywhere without you, and that can only mean one thing.
the confirming thought alone shatters the dam completely.
the sobs wrack his body and johnny gathers rex into his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest, burying his face into his thick fur despite the filth that coats the both of them. he whimpers and whines in johnny's ear, and the sound only makes his heart hurt even more.
a few months ago he never would've dreamed he'd be hugging a dog, but you changed that; you'd helped him work on his fear, and even if rex was the only one he could tolerate, it was still leagues better than what he could accomplish without you.
but now you’re gone, and neither of them have you to fall back on.
johnny sinks his fingers deep into rex's fur, sniffling pathetically because he may have lost you, but your canine lost his entire world and he would never understand where you went, why you left him all alone, why you weren’t coming back.
rex begins to wriggle in his arms, and soap knows he wants him to let go but he can't bring himself to. this dog is all he has left of you now; he would take care of your beloved canine, it doesn't matter if he was still terrified in the back of his mind.
after a painful few minutes, jonny regains the awareness to remember where they are and the fact that ghost is still watching him break down with the dog in his arms. with a trembling sigh, he loosens his hold on rex and pulls back, wiping a dusty hand over his eyes.
as he pushes himself to stand rex barks again, startling johnny with a jolt of panic before bounding back the way he came, away from him and ghost.
johnny frowns. "hey, don't run," he mutters, ambling after the canine as he pads backwards. every time johnny gets close, rex slips just out of reach before he can grab him.
ghost sighs, but allows him to go after the dog, keeping a watchful eye on them as they get further away.
the way he was running along and looking back to make sure johnny was following reminded him a worrying amount of how he acted in his training. the training where you would hide a dummy for him and johnny would reward him with treats when he led you to the fake body.
"no, no rex," except this time, the body wouldn't be fake. "please, boy, just come back…"
rex doesn't react to his pleading, determined to lead him to what johnny knows he’s found, but desperately wants to deny anyway. he tries to stop, to turn back and never have to face the reality of you being gone, but the canine won't let him. he takes johnny's trousers between his razor teeth and growls, deep and threatening, as he tries to pull him along.
the sound makes johnny freeze, fear clawing at the back of his mind as an instinctual reaction, but he blinks hard and pushes through it. "alright, i'm comin'..."
rex lets go once he’s sure he’ll follow again, trotting ahead with the occasional check behind him to make sure johnny was still there. he follows the canine past the rubble, through the treeline, and into the underbrush where the sick feeling in his throat only grows stronger.
he doesn't bother with the night vision goggles. the fire provides enough waving light for him to just about see where he’s going, and he really has no desire to see what rex is guiding him to.
johnny almost trips over him when the canine comes to an abrupt stop, his wide eyes trained on a bush to johnny’s left.
the dread pooling in his stomach becomes suffocating.
"wh…?" he swallows thickly, crouching down to rex's level and placing a hand on his back, feeling his laboured breath that matches his own. "...whatchya got, boy?"
rex barks and noses at the branches of the bush, before stepping backwards a few paces and looking expectantly between johnny and the shrub.
johnny stares at the bush. no amount of training could've prepared him for the terror he feels imagining what he’ll find on the other side of it. as if sensing his hesitation, rex barks again to spur him on, but it only makes his heart sink further.
his hand shakes as he reaches for the branches. there's a stutter in his heartbeat, a hitch in his breath, as he pushes them aside to reveal–
"bleedin' fuckin' jesus–" johnny cries, jumping through the foliage to couch over your weakened form, forgetting his fear all together as he ruffles rex's fur with both hands and a breaking smile when he barks again. "oh good boy rex! good boy, fuckin' hell!"
it's you, blood and ash smeared across your skin and your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and johnny's just so happy you're alive he can't think to be afraid when rex snaps at his hands in a misdirected effort to protect you. he presses both hands against the slice in your abdomen, using the few medical supplies in his vest to help stop the bleeding as the tears being to well again.
"shit, stay with me, hun, i've got ye…" he mumbles, putting all his weight onto your stomach. "ghost! help me!"
the rest is a blur.
they carry you to the helicopter, rex barking protectively between their legs the whole way until he can lay on guard between your legs on take off.
when they finally touch down back at base, johnny has to grab rex by the vest so the medics can carry you out, wrestling him away as he barks and whines in protest. johnny stays with the canine while you're in surgery and for the days you're asleep, making sure he's fed and allowing him to sleep in his room so he won’t be alone – despite how uncomfortable it makes him, and how little sleep he gets because of it.
it's four days until you wake up.
he's not the first to find out, but as soon as the words reach his ears he’d racing down the corridors and bursting through the infirmary doors with enough intensity to make you jump out of your skin. the sight of you sitting up and talking to price almost has his eyes watering again, but he pushes that urge down.
he approaches your bed more carefully, a wobbly smile pulling at his lips under your warm gaze. with an understanding look, price is patting him on the shoulder as he passes by and leaving the two of you alone with each other.
"aren't you a sight for sore eyes," johnny grins, taking a seat in the chair next to your bed and grasping your hand in his. a smile lifts your features as he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there as a heat rises in his cheeks.
"i could say the same, my knight in shining armour." you reply, moving your hand to cradle the side of his head and smoothing your thumb over his brow. he revels in the contact, the tension bleeding from his muscles under your touch. "where's rex?"
"he's fine, i made sure." he reassures you, and you let out a sigh of relief at his words, visibly relaxing into the pillows holding you up. "tried sneakin' him in here, but the nurses wouldn't have it."
a laugh escapes you, the sound still managing to make his heart feel light, even all these months later. "can't imagine why," you tease, gently nudging his head as he chuckles along with you.
it feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders, finally having you with him again. his eyes flutter shut as the relief washes over him, and a minute passes where neither of you speak, simply basking in each other's presence.
there's a scratching sound at the door that interrupts the peace and quiet, and the two of you share a knowing smile. not a moment later, the door is being pulled open just enough for rex to slip through and skid towards your bed on the linoleum floor, wagging his tail at breakneck speed.
before the door can completely close, johnny catches a glimpse of gaz’s mischievous grin and groans, but he doesn't have time to yell at him before he’s out of sight and rex is distracting him by leaping onto your bed.
you wheeze as your canine braces his paws on your chest and begins his assault on your face, licking every inch of skin he can reach with a series of excited chuffs and narrowly missing johnny’s head with his swinging tail.
"hi rex! you saved my life, didn’t you boy?" you giggle, affectionately ruffling his fur and planting kisses of your own on his face. "who’s a good boy? who’s the best sniffer dog ever?"
johnny clears his throat, drawing your attention to him as you cuddle rex to your chest. "i don’t want’a blow my own horn here, but i saved yer life too…" he gives you that lopsided grin, a playful glint in his eyes that makes you laugh again.
"you want some pets too?" you chuckle, reaching over and dragging his head over to you by a hand on the back of his neck. "good job, johnny, you’re a good boy too." you coo, pressing your lips to his forehead and the tip of his nose as you ruffle his mohawk like rex’s fur.
the effect is immediate. his cheeks burn again with a striking red blush, and he chokes on his breath in bashful embarrassment under your ministrations. he hopes you haven't noticed his reaction, but the way your laugh bubbles up again he can tell you’ve caught on.
"i think i like that more than i should, bonnie." he mutters, pressing his forehead against yours and allowing his eyes to flutter shut. you hum sweetly, your warm breath fanning over his face.
"don’t short circuit on me yet, soap, you still owe me a date."
note: can't believe i'm actually writing for ghost, yes he was the reason i got into cod, but i havent thought about him since like january lol. has this trope already been done? yes. am i doing it anyway? also yes.
pairing: ghost x gn!reader
wc: 2.2k
no use of y/n
readers callsign is 'stingray'
summary: if there's one constant in your life, it's that ghost doesn't like you, so when your house burns down and you have no choice but to move in with him, it feels like your life is on a steady downhill spiral.
warnings: slowburn, some angst, your house burns down, ghost is mean, sort of enemies to friends to lovers
ao3
【next】
it's been almost a year since you'd joined the taskforce. nearly twelve months of gruelling hard work, and not for a single second had lieutenant ghost treated you with a shred of familiarity. at first, you thought he'd get over it, that he'd get past his obvious trust issues and warm up to you eventually, but you quickly gave up on that idea.
clearly, you'd been too optimistic.
which was unfortunate, considering how much you'd come to care for the prickly bastard, no matter how dismissive he was of you. it started slow; when you were first recruited, you held a great deal of respect for him because of his reputation, and you'd naively even looked forward to working with him. when you discovered his less than friendly demeanour, to say you were disheartened would be an understatement. he was withdrawn and stoic, never sparing you so much as a passing glance and a barked order, whether you were in the field or not.
the other sergeants had assured you that he wasn't as cold as he comes across; soap and gaz both told you how he'd acted the same towards them when they first met – he was a lone wolf, not used to having to look out for teammates.
the more time you spent on missions with him, the more you saw of the person beneath the hard exterior. you saw how he seemed to know everyone's strengths and weaknesses, things you never would've picked up on. he always made sure the team had eaten, disguised as a gruff order to stay on your game. when he got angry, it would be because someone put themselves in danger, not because they screwed up the mission. you saw someone who'd been through hell and come out the other side swinging.
before, you'd respected ghost as a soldier and your superior, but now, after spending so much time with him, your perspective of him has changed. he intrigued you; he's quiet, introverted but not shy, more observant than you could imagine, and so closely guarded you wondered if he'd ever be able to open up. you'd only heard whispers of the things he'd been through in the past, so despite his obvious animosity towards you, you treated him with the respect you thought he deserved – like a person, and you'd hoped that with time, he could see you as more than just a soldier too. though he still didn't like you, you liked to think that the two of you have come to some sort of understanding.
and that leads you to your problem; you wanted to know him. every tiny crack in his facade made you more and more curious about the man behind the mask – about simon, rather than ghost, but from what you could tell, he didn't hold the same sentiment about you. where he would banter back and forth with the others over comms, he'd fall silent whenever you join in. every minute little mistake was amplified to him, you've lost count of the amount of times he's berated you for things he's excused for others. it made your heart ache that you just couldn't win with him, and you feared you'd never understand why.
but now, as you sit shivering with a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, watching the smouldering remains of what was your home in the middle of the night, freezing and exhausted, you'd never felt more hated.
you could hear them, ghost and the captain, talking in hushed voices a little ways down the road from where you sit. they probably think they're being subtle, discussing what to do with you like you're not even there, like every single one of your worldly possessions hadn't just gone up in smoke, but you hear them as if they're standing right in front of you.
"i wouldn't do this if there were any other options, simon."
"there are plenty of other options, just stick 'em in a hotel for god's sake."
"there's no hotels close enough to base – it'll only be temporary, 'till we can find 'em somewhere else."
"fuckin' hell, why cant they go with one of the others?"
"soap and gaz are already flatmates, you live alone and you're the closest to base. this is the only option that makes sense."
"i'm not fuckin' happy about this, price."
their profiles are momentarily illuminated by the blue lights from the fire engine parked nearby, allowing you for a second to see the withering glare ghost is sending your way, and all of a sudden the last couple hours of emotional distress is crashing down on you; his obvious distaste for you combined with the toll of watching your house literally burning down was too much for you all at once. you could feel the tears start to spill over again, but you can’t find the strength to stop them and just bring the shock blanket closer to your face. you’d lost everything, and even now he couldn’t find it in himself to feel an ounce of compassion for you? why can’t he care for you like he does the others? like you do for him?
as your watery gaze drops to the soot and ash covering your pyjamas, a voice sounds from beside you, the opposite direction from price and ghost. you don’t even realise you’re hyperventilating until they lay a hand on your shoulder and rub soothing circles into your back.
“hey– hey, it’s okay,” it’s gaz, you notice in the back of your mind, sitting on the curb next to you. you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block out the world around you, and gaz brings you closer into his embrace. “you’ll be alright, we’ll get everything sorted, yeah?”
"i– i don't– i can't–" you try to speak, but you can't seem to form a coherent sentence through your sobbing.
"it's alright, just breathe for me." gaz hugs you tighter again, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he consoles you. for a few minutes you stay like that, your breathing eventuslly returning to normal and the tears slowing to a stop.
price and ghost are still arguing, but you can't hear what they're saying anymore; probably for the best, if you had to listen to ghost complain about you for one more second you might really have a breakdown.
soap's voice cuts through the fog in your mind, "managed to find this, thought ya' might want it." you look up to find him crouching in front of you and holding out a slightly singed photo, a weak smile on his face. "frame's broken, but the picture's still mostly fine."
you take it from him, fingers grasping the card gently as you turn it around to look at the picture. it's from a few years ago, you and your friends from your previous unit, smiling into the camera as if you had no worries at all. staring at the ghosts of your friends starts you crying again, clutching the photo to your chest and leaning back into gaz's shoulder. if anything could've survived the blaze, you're grateful it was this. gaz rubs your arm sofly, whispering comforting words to you again.
you hear another set of footsteps approach and look up again to see price now standing in front of you as well. it's not exactly surprising, but ghost is nowhere to be seen.
"ambulance is here," price says, offering you a hand and pulling you to your feet when you take it. "i'll follow behind to the hospital, one of you two take their car to simon's."
you nod and retrieve your car keys from your jacket pocket, thankful you'd had the mind to grab it on your way out in your frantic state.
"I've got a bag in the boot, it's got some clothes in it." you mutter, handing the keys to soap, who smiles and gives you a pat on the shoulder.
"no bother, i'll grab it for ya." he says, and jogs off to where your car was parked, thankfully untouched out of reach of the fire. he returns not a minute layer carrying your duffle of emergency supplies, something you never thought would actually come in handy.
before you know it you're waving gaz and soap goodbye, the paramedics are guiding you to the back of the ambulance, and you're leaving what remains of your old home in the rear-view mirror.
✹✹✹
you hated hospitals. it was a fact, and it had been that way since you were a child, everything about them just made your skin crawl. perhaps you inherited the feeling from your mother; she always managed to bring up her distaste for the place whenever the topic arose. or, maybe you only hated them because they scared you.
either way, the relief you felt as you stepped out of the front door into the car park with price trailing behind you was palpable. he falls into step next to you as the two of you make your way over to where he parked, his keys jingling as he fishes them from his pocket.
"we're puttin' you up with simon for the time being, 'till we can get you somewhere else." his words make you wince; you already knew he was going to say that, but it didn't stop the anxiety from bubbling up in your chest.
"i heard." a beat of silence passes before you continue. "how long will that take?" you ask, climbing into the passenger seat and dropping your bag at your feet as price settles into the driver's side.
"i wouldn't get your hopes up. might be quicker to wait for 'em to rebuild your old place." he flashes you a smile, but you can't find it in yourself to return the gesture.
"right."
neither of you say another word as he starts the engine and pulls out of the car park. you turn to look out the window, watching the world go by, the quiet rambling of the radio serving as white noise in the background. it's the early hours of the morning now, the sun would be up in a few hours and you'd have to go back to work already – price did say you could have the day off, but honestly the last thing you wanted was to sit around all day with nothing to do but overthink.
after nearly ten minutes of trying to ignore it, the worry playing at your mind becomes too much to keep to yourself.
"you know he hates me, right?" you utter, half expecting price to ignore your question all together.
he clicks his tongue. "he doesn't hate you," price replies, and his voice sounds reassuring but it doesn't bring you much comfort.
"okay, well, he doesn't like me either." you turn your head to look at him, raising your brows. rolling to a stop at a red light, he meets your eyes and huffs.
"alright, he can be difficult–"
"really?"
"–but i promise you, he doesn't hate you." he says. you give him a disbelieving look, and he sighs, looking back to the road as the light turns green. "give him a chance, alright?"
"is he gonna give me a chance?"
"he will." price says firmly, sparing you a look as he drives down the quiet road. "and if he doesn't, you'll knock some sense into him, eh?"
"sure…" you mutter, looking back out the window and falling back into silence. its only a few minutes until he's pulling over to the side of the road, outside the house number you know to be ghost's.
"sting," price calls out, stopping you as you reach for the door handle, "he'll come around, alright?"
"it's been a year, cap. i don't think he will." you reply, and before he can say anything else you open the door and step out into the night air, grabbing your bag from your feet before closing the door again. you give price a half-hearted wave as he pulls away again, before turning around and gazing up at your – temporary – new home.
it was nice, all things considered; a standard terrace on the end of the row, but the size has you wondering if there was even room for you to stay here. though it's not as if you have a choice. all the lights were off, which had you hopeful that you wouldn't run into ghost just yet.
you drag yourself to the front door, your eyes stinging from the effort of keeping them open, and twist the handle as quietly as possible, closing it behind you and cringing at the clunk it makes. thankfully ghost didn't hate you enough to lock you out for the night, something you actually wouldn't put past him considering how he feels about you.
there's a small side table in the entryway that catches your attention. on top of it sits your car keys – you make a mental note to thank soap in the morning – a new key, and a note. you pick up the paper, using the torch from your phone to examine the scratchy handwriting.
living room's yours. lock the door.
– s
it's more than you expected from him. you sigh to yourself and pick up the other key, locking the door and shuffling into the small living room. the pull-out bed is made up for you, albeit quite messily, and you waste no time in dropping your stuff and laying your head down on the lumpy pillow.
with any luck, this arrangement wouldn't last long, but in the meantime you got the feeling you were in for a bumpy ride.
note: this has been in my drafts since MARCH. can't decide whether i like it or not lol. @wetsocksinbed angsty fic is up next >:)
pairing: john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader
wc: 9.5k (oops)
summary: you receive a series of mysterious gifts from a mysterious admirer.
warnings: longing, yearning, pining, best friends to lovers trope, idiots in love, heavy on the idiots part, tooth-rotting fluff
ao3
over the last two weeks, you’ve noticed some odd things happening around you; a good kind of odd, the kind that left you thoroughly confused, but was heartwarming nonetheless.
after going back and forth with it in your mind, you've come to the conclusion that you have a secret admirer. it was odd, and a little hard to believe, but it was the only option that made any sense to you. in all honesty, it was probably just your hopeless-romantic heart clouding your mind with optimism, but one can dream.
the first incident was harmless enough, a small inconspicuous gesture that was so subtle, in fact, that you barely paid it any notice at first.
it was the dead of night, and you’d just returned from a particularly gruelling solo mission, uninjured but bone tired and desperate to collapse into your bed and finally sleep. before you could fall into the blankets, however, you noticed through the darkness of your room something strange.
resting neatly on your pillow, illuminated by the dim light of your phone screen, was a single bar of your favourite chocolate. you didn’t remember buying it, and certainly didn’t remember leaving it there, but it was exactly the kind of pick-me-up you needed after the day you’d had. at the time, you’d chalked it up to you simply being forgetful, devoured the chocolate in record time, and promptly knocked out.
over breakfast the next morning, you'd recounted to the others the mysterious appearing chocolate as a funny anecdote; the five of you had laughed about your terrible memory, and you'd moved on. but now you weren’t on the verge of blacking out, you couldn’t help but think of it as weird.
for the life of you, you couldn’t remember buying the chocolate bar, and it didn’t make sense that you would leave it on your pillow like that. what did make sense, however bizarre it may seem, was someone else leaving it for you – but you had no idea who would do that for you, or why. either way, you didn't imagine that anything else would come from it.
the next incident happened three days later.
during training that afternoon, you were in the middle of running laps around base, when you’d – stupidly – tripped over a ditch in the ground and rolled your ankle pretty badly. it hurt too much to put any weight on it, so you’d sat there in shame with no choice but to wait for a few minutes until gaz and soap caught up to you.
as they rounded the corner, you'd reluctantly waved them over with a grimace at how your ankle was throbbing in your boot. johnny was immediately crouching by your side, abandoning the idea of training to focus completely on you.
"christ, what happened?" he fussed, worry creasing his face and making your own heat up under the attention.
"i tripped…" you mumbled, dragging a hand over your embarrassed expression. it was bad enough that you'd made such a simple mistake, but now the man you were crushing on, hard, was lifting your leg so gently and untying your laces and you were certain you were moments away from cardiac arrest.
he'd ushered gaz away to continue his run, telling him he'd accompany you to the infirmary with a tone that left no room for argument. not that gaz would've, the knowing look he sent you as he jogged away told you he knew exactly what you were thinking.
after making sure nothing was broken, soap had pulled you to stand with an arm around your waist, supporting you with his solid frame when you stumbled.
"sure y'don't want me to carry you?" he'd teased, earning a laugh from you as you wobbled in his arms. as you chuckled though, you noticed a hint of what seemed like sincerity in his eyes. you'd felt your face burning again at the implication that he really would carry you, if that's what you'd wanted, and quickly started dragging him along with you in an attempt to hide your flustered state.
he'd kept his arm around your waist the entire way to the medical wing, only releasing you when you were sat in front of the doctor, which did absolutely nothing to calm your racing heart. to your dismay, he couldn't stay with you – you were still in the middle of training, after all.
"you sure you'll be alright by yourself?" he'd asked as he left, and the concern in his eyes almost finished you off. you were almost glad he didn't stick around to see the effect he had on you.
luckily, after a quick inspection, the doctor concluded that you only had a minor sprain, and you'd be good as new in a couple of weeks. she'd sent you on your way with an ice pack, a crutch, and strict instructions to stay off your feet.
you would've gone back outside to watch the boys (mainly soap) finish the rest of their exercises, but honestly, the embarrassment of what happened had you wanting to curl up with a pillow over your face for the rest of the day; so that's exactly what you found yourself doing.
you must've drifted off to sleep at some point, because once you finally sat up again, the sun had painted the horizon a bright orange, and your stomach had begun to rumble.
as you went to walk out into the hall, you heard the crinkle of plastic under your boot, pausing you mid‐step. when you looked down, you were stunned to find a bundle of three beautiful white flowers – gardenias, you'd found out after googling them later. an incredibly warm feeling blossomed in your chest, and despite your best efforts, your eyes had welled up with tears. you couldn't even think of the last time someone bought you flowers. there was no note attached, meaning you had no way of knowing who had left them for you, which sent your mind back to the chocolate bar from a few days ago.
so i'm not going crazy, you'd thought to yourself, someone really did leave it for me. but still, you had no clue who this mystery gift-giver could be.
you'd carefully picked them up, being mindful of your ankle, and turned back around to put them in your room. there wasn't really anywhere to put them, so you just set them on the ledge of your windowsill and made a mental note to find a vase for them at some point.
when you eventually made it to the mess hall, there were very few people left, leaving the room unusually calm. ghost was sat by himself at one of the far tables, so you hobbled over on your crutch to sit with him while you ate.
you sat down opposite him, and he'd looked up, gave you a subtle nod, and gone back to eating with his eyes fixed on the table in front of him. the two of you ate like that for a while, sitting quietly in each others presence.
ghost had been the first to break the silence, asking you, "how's the ankle?" as he pulled his balaclava back down to cover his mouth.
"just sprained," you'd replied, looking up to meet his eyes. another beat of silence fell over you, before you continued, "did you see who left me those flowers?" you'd asked him; it was worth a shot, you figured not much gets past ghost. to your dismay, he simply shook his head, standing and mumbling a goodbye as he left.
you were only more confused now. if ghost didn't know who it was – and, granted, you wouldn't actually be able to tell if he was lying, but you trusted him – then who would know? the next day, you'd asked the other boys, but they'd all said the same thing, even the captain. so you were left with nothing to do but wonder who on earth could be leaving you these gifts.
after that, it was another four days until your secret admirer struck again.
you'd been in and out of briefings and debriefings and meetings all day, your mind was beginning to numb with all the information that had been unloaded. you were tired; not quite the same exhaustion you'd felt coming back from your mission earlier in the week, though, this time you were at the end of your rope mentally. there hadn't been a moments peace since you got out of bed, and once that excruciatingly long day was over and you were relaxing in the common room, you'd had no energy to actually engage with your friends.
you were nestled into one end of the sofa with gaz next to you, ghost on his other side, and soap in the armchair with a small book in his hands. they were all chatting, with you occasionally saying a thing or two, but you were mostly just zoned out with their conversation serving as white noise in the background.
occasionally, you'd look up and catch soap already watching you, but he'd quickly turn his gaze back down to his book. his attention caused you to be equal parts flustered and confused. if you'd been any more awake, you probably would've asked him if something was wrong, but you were already having trouble keeping your head up as it was.
once you felt your eyes slip closed one too many times, you'd decided it was time to turn in for the night. with a quick 'goodnight' to the others, you'd made a beeline straight for your room – but it was more of a hobble, since your ankle still required you to walk with a crutch.
that night you'd slept like a baby, waking up early the next morning feeling well rested, and thankfully your ankle had even started to feel better. though you still couldn't join the team's training sessions, you had other responsibilities to fulfil, so unfortinately you did have to get up at some point.
you'd just finished lacing up your boots when you noticed it; a single sheet of paper on the ground by your door, folded once in half so you can't see what's written on it. from where it lays, you conclude that whoever left it must've slipped it through the gap under your door while you slept. you'd picked it up and sat back on the edge of your bed to unfold it, your curiosity certainly piqued. it make you wonder, though, what reason someone could have for leaving you a note.
except, when you'd lifted the page it wasn't a note at all. on the slightly wrinkled paper were a number of beautiful pencil drawings – drawings of you. the surprise of seeing your own face staring back at you nearly stopped your poor heart.
the jagged edge on one side of the page indicated that it must have been torn out of a sketchbook, which had interested you even more. you couldn't think of anyone you knew who could draw, let alone who would have a sketchbook dedicated to it.
whoever made this, it was clear that art was a passion of theirs – these drawings were really good. your hair, your eyes, the subtle expression on your features, every line was expertly crafted. it was incredibly flattering, and admittedly boosted your ego a little with how good those sketches made you look.
as you sat there smiling to yourself, you'd glanced up to the three flowers blooming on your nightstand. like the gardenias, the drawings were from your secret admirer, there was no other explanation; and an admirer they were, it was abundantly clear from these sketches that this person had an appreciation for you, if only from afar.
the drawings had been your favourite so far, but unfortunately, it was almost a week until your admirer made another move.
it had been long enough for you to start walking properly on your ankle again, and so you'd been slowly easing back into your workout routine, starting with your morning run. you'd taken it slow with lots of breaks to rest your muscles, but still decided to call it early, which had you back at your locker earlier than usual. as you were rounding the corner to the locker room, you'd heard the door slam closed and a set of heavy footsteps racing down the corridor. you'd only caught a glimpse of whoever it was as they dashed around the other corner, quick enough that you weren't able to see who it was.
you'd been concerned at first, whoever it was had been in a terrible rush, but you'd quickly shaken it off – it wasn't uncommon for people to be rushing around base, especially first thing in the morning. with your own meeting to get to, you'd decided not to dwell on the strange almost-encounter, and carried on with grabbing your towel from the bench and showering.
as you opened the door to your locker to fetch your clean clothes, sitting front and centre on top of them was something you definitely hadn't left there; a bag of your favourite hard candy, unopened, in the space that had been empty not half an hour before. how did these get here? you'd asked yourself, and you stood there confused for a moment or two before the answer came to you.
of course, your secret admirer. you'd felt the familiar giddy excitement bubble up in your chest at the revelation. it had been a while since the page of drawings had been slipped under your door, and it pained you how the gardenias had begun to wilt already. honestly, you'd been slightly worried that they'd given up, or something had happened to them. thankfully though, they seemed to be doing just fine, and you were too with such a pleasant start to your day.
it wasn't until you were sat in the meeting room, munching on your sweets and waiting for the others to arrive, that you realised.
the person, the one who'd been in a hurry as you got back from your run, it was them; that person was your secret admirer. they had to be, you'd concluded, the sweets weren't in your locker when you'd been in there earlier, and you did cut your run short, so they probably hadn't expected you to return so soon – that's why they'd been in such a rush to get away.
the revelation had butterflies swarming in your stomach, the idea of being so close to finding out who it was that held such fond affection for you sparking giddy excitement in you; but at the same time, it filled you with a sickly apprehension.
the problem was that you already knew who you wanted it to be – you had from the beginning – and you worried that uncovering their identity would only lead to disappointment; because there was no possible way john mactavish could feel the same way you felt about him.
soap had always been nothing short of kind and respectful of you, never stepping over the unspoken line if being your closest friend. sometimes, you can fool yourself into thinking he treats you differently – when he checks in on you after missions, when he always saves you a seat next to him in meetings, when he'd practically carried you to the infirmary, all of it ignited a warm feeling in your chest. but then you think about it a little more, and remember that all those nice gestures, that's just who he is. he wormed his way into the heart of ghost, for fucks sake, it was almost impossible not to like him.
you'd been so lost in thought, that gaz sitting in the seat next to you had startled you back to reality.
"gonna share with the class?" he'd asked with a teasing smirk, gesturing to the sweets sitting on the table in front of you. he'd reached out to grab one, but you'd pushed his hand away and snatched the bag to your chest.
"no way," you'd said with a playful glare, sending a quick smile to soap who'd taken the seat on your other side, "these are from my secret admirer, get your own."
gaz paused. "...your fucking what?" he had an incredulous look on his face, and you'd forgotten that you never actually told the others about it. "soap, you hearin' this?"
soap looked almost panicked when you'd turned to him, but he didn't have time to respond, as that was the moment price had walked through the door and announced the start of the meeting.
"i'll explain after," you whispered to gaz, who gave you a pointed look that said 'you better' and turned his attention back to price. you'd stifled a chuckle and looked back at soap, expecting him to have a similar expression, but he was already facing forward. you'd frowned at this; you and johnny would always whisper back and forth during meetings – a way to keep eachother entertained, as well as an excuse for you to sit close to him – but today his face had an odd air of seriousness to it. oh well, you'd thought somewhat downtrodden, just have to talk to him after.
and that's what led you to the present, where you'd been explaining to the boys everything that has happened over the last two weeks. well, you were mostly telling soap and gaz, ghost honestly didn't seem that interested, though the captain did have a rather amused expression as he listened.
"so you have no idea who it could be?" gaz had turned sideways in his chair, leaning forward slightly with his eyebrows raised. he looked to be in disbelief, and you were almost inclined to feel the same.
"nope, not a clue." you sighed, turning from gaz to look at the others around the table. price was standing with his arms crossed, giving you a similar disbelieving look, and ghost had that familiar unreadable look in his eyes.
"someone went in your room while you were gone?" ghost's low voice caught your attention, "bit creepy, innit," he grumbled, his gaze darting between you and somewhere next to you. he did have a point, you supposed, it was a bit weird.
"well… maybe a little, yeah…" you trailed off. perhaps he had a point, but you found yourself not wanting to believe it; all of the mystery person's gestures had been so sweet, thoughtful, it was hard to think they had any ill intentions.
that, and your heart has already made up its mind about who it should be.
"don't be like that, lt., whoever it is meant well, didn't they?" gaz chuckled, the grin evident in his voice.
"christ…" ghost mutters, shaking his head in exasperation.
"it may be a slight invasion of privacy…" you begin; and it's true, but after the first incident, it didn't appear that anyone had been inside your room again. "but it was only once. and it was just a chocolate bar, it's harmless. besides, are you really telling me you've never been in anyone's room when they're not there?" you continued, earning only an eye roll from ghost.
"and you haven't tried to figure out who it is?" price asks from his position standing opposite you, across the table.
"no, i wouldn't even know where to start, it could be anyone…" you try to think of anyone to suspect, but your optimistic mind only draws one name; the object of your affection, who happened to be sitting directly next to you. unfortunately, the two of you were strictly friends – no matter how much you longed for something more.
"i think you should investigate," gaz's smile makes you think for a moment that he knows something that you don't, but you brush it off. he didn't even know about your admirer until you told him, how could he? it wasn't like they were leaving any hints. "whoever it is obviously really likes you."
"you think?" you unwrap another sweet and pop it into your mouth as you consider his words.
"yeah! and, we could even help you investigate," gaz gives the others a hopeful, if slightly suspicious, smirk.
"speak for yourself…" ghost leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest, the picture of uninterested, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"could be a good bonding exercise," price had the same entertained tone in his voice as he looked between the four of you, "any thoughts, soap?"
you hadn't realised until the captain brought attention to him, but soap had been uncharacteristically quiet during all this; since before the meeting, actually. he hadn't said a word to you yet today, which had you a little worried. usually the two of you couldn't shut up when you were together. you turn to look at him, and find him looking wide-eyed back at price.
"i don't– ah, maybe…" he stuttered, looking between price and the table rather than meeting your concerned eyes, "...they're just shy? don't want to be known yet?"
"oh, y'think, mate?" gaz fully laughed at that, sharing a look with both ghost and price that held something you couldn't understand. now you're thoroughly confused.
"well, maybe he's right," uncertainty laced your voice, their reactions throwing you for a loop. "if they wanted to be known, they probably would've shown themselves by now, right?" you turn to soap, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else – but he meets your gaze with a tiny smile.
"so you're not going to investigate?" you look back at gaz, who has that incredulous look back on his face, and from the corner of your eye you see price and ghost both shake their heads.
"they can show themselves when they're ready, i don't want to push them." your mind was made up; if your secret admirer wanted to reveal their identity, then they would, it's as simple as that.
"but–" gaz tries to argue, but price quickly interrupts him.
"right, enough, you lot, clear out, you've all got work to be getting on with." he gestures for you all to stand, and after grabbing your sweets, you follow the others out of the room.
for the rest of the day, you endured endless amounts of teasing from gaz, and he even got some of the people from other units in on it. it had your face burning when they cooed over how romantic your 'mystery lover' was. you could only pray that they got over it soon, in the back of your mind you were slightly worried the attention might scare off your admirer, and you certainly didn't want that. but although you told the others you'd wait for them to reveal themselves in their own time, you'd be lying if you said you weren't practically dying to know who it was.
✹✹✹
"hey sarge," a voice sounds from beside you, drowning out the din of the mess hall around you. turning your head, you see it's a private; one you don't really know, but you give her a polite smile anyway. "i've got a message for you." she continues, producing a folded piece of paper from behind her back.
"a message? who from?" you ask, taking the paper from her when she holds it out to you.
she giggles, giving you a sly smile, "a secret someone," and with a suspicious wink, she turned around and left.
with the note in your hand, you look to gaz and soap, a baffled expression on your face. "does she mean my… admirer?" they both shrug at you, sharing an equally perplexed look between themselves.
"go on then," gaz says, "what does it say?"
you unfold it, and scan the neat handwriting of the message. soap and gaz watch as you read it, their curiosity overwhelmingly present in the way they leaned forward to try and see.
your face falls, and you frown. the note was signed – 'your secret admirer' – but you couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in your heart.
"what's up? what does it say?" gaz notices the change in your expression, standing up from his chair and leaning fully over the table to read the note himself. you hand it to him, your good mood from this morning completely soured.
"apparently it is from my admirer," you begin, not bothering to hide the dejection in your voice, "telling me to meet them outside in five minutes."
the pair don't say anything, too stunned to form words as they continue to frown at the words in front of them. this can't be right, it just can't be, your mind laments, if johnny is sitting here, that that means he's not–
"seriously? just like that?" gaz interrupts your thoughts. he sounded annoyed underneath his shock, and you find yourself feeling the same way. "sorry, but i find that hard to believe – they didn't even leave a card with the flowers, did they? it just doesn't feel right to me."
you look to soap, who has yet to say anything on the matter. he doesn't meet your eyes, boring holes into the table with the anger in his gaze. your frown only deepens at his expression, the look on his face so unlike him it almost has you forgetting all about the cause.
"who knows," you sigh, plucking the note back out of gaz's hand. "this probably won't take long, i'll–"
"wait, you're going?" soap interjects, the frown on his face set much deeper than your own. his sudden question caught you off guard, paired with his irritated expression, and you almost thought he was angry with you.
"yeah, i mean, what's the harm, right? might as well just get it over with." you stand as you respond, folding the note back up. even if you were setting yourself up for disappointment, you still wanted to at least hear this person out; even if it wasn't him.
"what's the harm?" johnny scoffs – at you or at very idea of all this you aren't sure – and joins you in standing up, throwing his arms out with such annoyance, it catches you off guard. he gestures sharply at the paper in your hand, "this– whoever that is, it's pure shite! you can't see that?"
now it's you who scoffs at him; where is this hostility coming from? yesterday he seemed as though he couldn't care less when you were telling everyone about it, and now all of a sudden, he thinks he has all the answers?
"how would you know?" you shove the note into your pocket, your earlier sadness quickly morphing into annoyance.
as you move to walk away, johnny looks like he wants to say something more, to stop you, and you hesitate. you want him to; whoever your admirer was, whoever that note was from, none of it meant a thing if it wasn't him. all you wanted was for him to look at you the same way you look at him. gaz is looking at him too, subtly gesturing for him to do something, but he doesn't speak, doesn't meet your eyes as your face drops again.
"exactly, you don't. i'll be back in a minute." you huff, and without another word from either of them, you turn on your heel and make your way out of the mess hall.
it's safe to say your mood had swiftly and effectively been ruined. the disillusionment of realising that your secret admirer was someone other than johnny was one thing, but his sudden attitude towards you was the final straw. your face was decidedly sour as you trudge through the corridors, still with a slight limp which was only fuelling your annoyance for how your day was going.
the cool air of the courtyard makes your skin bristle as you push the door open, taking a moment to survey the area as you stand in the entryway. to the left stands a lone figure, and you recognise his face, but – like the private from earlier, who you assume is his friend – you can't remember ever having spoken to him. with a deep sigh, you blink away bitterness in your expression and make your way over to him.
his grin is wide as he shamelessly checks you out while you approach, and you instinctually cross your arms over your chest. you come to a stop in front of him, frowning in a look that you hope screams uninterested.
"hey, sarge." he has an overly confident air to him as he speaks, shuffling closer under your scrutinising stare. of course he wouldn't take the hint.
"so it's you, then?" you ask, your voice flat and void of any emotion. you just wanted this to be over with, but it seemed luck just wasn't on your side today.
"it's me," he confirms, the blinding grin still plastered to his face as he inches even closer, "you surprised?"
"yeah, actually. i didn't know you were an artist." you reply, voice flat, and you watch him blink once in surprise. you raise a brow at his bewilderment, your patience already wearing painfully thin. he chuckles awkwardly in an attempt to hide how you so obviously caught him off guard.
"ah, yeah i uh–" he stutters, but you cut him off before he can make too much of a fool of himself.
"in fact, i don't actually know you at all. i couldn't recall your name even if you held a gun to my head." the hiss in your voice reveals just how over this whole situation you are. he opens his mouth to spout something else you have no interest in hearing, the sleazy grin falling from his face, but you hold a hand up to silence him. "so i'd really appreciate it if you left me alone."
"but–"
"and stay out of my room, and my locker, too. if it happens again, you're getting reported." you spit the final words at him, and turn on your heel to leave. before you can take another step, he grabs your elbow and spins you back around to face him, causing your ankle to twist awkwardly, which sends a fresh jolt of pain up your leg. you hold back a groan and fix him with a deadly glare instead.
"hey, c'mon, don't be like that!" you wince as he practically demands, getting much closer to you than was necessary, even with you arching backwards to put some space between you. "at least gimme a chance,"
"just leave me alone." you hiss, pulling your arm out of his grip and before he has the chance to do or say anything else, you hurry back the way you came, your limp noticeably more pronounced than earlier. thankfully, the private – jackson, you’d just about been able to read on his jacket – didn’t follow you back to the mess hall, which proves that he has at least half a brain. you hoped that he’d take the hint to stay away from you, but somewhere in the back of your mind you were preparing yourself to be hassled by him in the coming days; he certainly seemed the type.
you were gone less than ten minutes, but in that time most of the lunch crowd had cleared out, leaving the room a lot quieter than it had been. as you shuffle towards soap and gaz, still sitting at the same table, they both turn to look at you, and you can tell by the way both their expressions drop that they sense something is off.
"what happened?" gaz asks as you take your seat across from them, trying to hold back a wince when you put too much strain on your ankle, "your face says it didn't go well."
you sigh, looking between both of them, lingering on soap who’s already watching you with an intensity that has your face heating up. "it didn’t. it was just some private who can’t take no for an answer." you grumble, resting your cheek in the palm of your hand.
"your ankle okay?" soap asks, holding your gaze until you relent and look away first. you want to tell him not to worry, but you find it's impossible to lie to him, not when he's looking at you like you're the only person in the room. "what happened?" he presses, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.
"its nothing, he just– i just twisted it a little." you trip over your words under his stare, looking to gaz for help, but you find that he has a similar – albeit less intense – look of concern on his face. the silence hangs between you for a moment as you wordlessly try to convince them, but they see through you. "alright, fine. when i was leaving, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back, and i pulled my ankle."
if johnny had been pissed before, he was furious now; his eyes were dark underneath his furrowed brow, his lips turned down in a frown that looked more like a snarl. to see someone usually so easygoing with such a threatening look on his face was almost worrying, the only reassurance being that you know it's not directed at you.
"that prick… who was it?" gaz isn't nearly as affected as soap, but he's clearly annoyed by the audacity of the private. you shake your head, urging them to just let it go; he wasn't worth the trouble, after all.
when johnny says your name in that deep, gravelly tone, your heart skips a beat and your eyes snap to meet his. "who was it." he asks, but it's not a question anymore, and every fibre of your being is telling you to just give in to him.
"jackson. i don't know his first name…" you mutter, slightly flustered by the way he's acting. the tension in the silence that follows is nearly suffocating. from where his arms rest on the table, you notice johnny repeatedly clenching his fists, seemingly having some sort of internal battle with himself.
"what a bellend…" gaz grumbles, pausing for a moment to shake the disgust from his face. "so, what about the whole 'secret admirer' thing then?" he leans back in his chair, eyes darting to soap's profile then back to you.
"i don't know…" you sigh, "didn't really seem like something he was capable of, but i guess i don't really know him, so–"
"yeah, he doesn't seem the type, does he?" gaz interjects, with a newfound energy at your words. you narrow you eyes, sensing an ulterior motive, but let him continue. "i mean, buying you flowers, sweets– seems a bit too thoughtful for such a twat."
his jab coaxed a laugh from you, "maybe; i guess i was pretty disappointed when i saw it was him, though."
"oh yeah? expecting someone else, were you?" gaz has a grin on his face, one that has you worried that he's clocked on to your true feelings.
"something like that…" you clear your throat, suddenly feeling a little too seen for your liking. "anyway, i'd better get going, desk duty is no joke," you slowly stand up, making sure to be careful of your newly irritated ankle, and adamantly avoiding eye contact with either of them.
"yeah, me too, cap said he needs my help with something." gaz stands as well, giving soap a pat on the back and a suspicious wink as he walks off, which you willfully choose to ignore.
"you gonna be okay?" johnny comes to your side as you shuffle around the table, his hand brushing over your back to support you. butterflies begin to flutter at the feeling, and you scold yourself for being so easily affected. he seems to have calmed down a lot, the anger from earlier overtaken by his concern.
"yeah, i'll be fine, i think i'll just have to grab my crutch," you smile at him and take a step forward, wincing as you shift your weight from one foot to the other.
"c'mon, lemme help you," he tilts his head to meet your eyes, his worry evident within them. his hand is warm on your back, you have to hold yourself back from leaning into him. "cannae have you hurtin' yourself any more."
"you sure? don't you have work to do too?" you have every intention of taking him up on his offer, but you couldn't help feeling guilty for needing his help like this.
"i'm sure lt. can survive a few extra minutes," johnny gives you a reassuring smile, already ushering you out of the mess hall.
"well, don't blame me when has your head," you grin back at him, relishing in the comfortable feeling of being so close to him. distracted by his proximity, you momentarily forget about your injury and without thinking, you put too much weight on it as you take a step. with a pained gasp, you wobble on your good foot and pause to give your ankle a break.
johnny moves his arm to sit securely around your waist, gently pulling you to lean fully against him. "you sure you don't want me to take you to the infirmary?" he asks, lifting your arm to wrap around his shoulders.
"no, no– they're just gonna tell me to rest, and i'll be sitting down all day anyway," you move to continue on your way to your room, but he stays put.
"you should still get it looked at, might be–"
"johnny." you stop him with a hand on his chest, "i'm okay."
you watch his adams apple bob as he gulps, his eyes flickering to where your hand is touching him and back up to your own, almost too fast to notice.
"right, right. sorry." he dips his head, breaking eye contact. you pull him gently, and the two of you start walking again. "you know jackson well?"
you scoff, frowning as you recall the events of earlier. "what? no, before today i didn't even know his name. he seems like kind of an arsehole, to be honest."
"really? made that bad of an impression, eh?" his lopsided smile feels oddly smug, but you decide not to overthink it.
"like i said, can't take a no." you grumble, pinching the bridge of your nose with your free hand, "i doubt this is the last time i'll have to deal with him…"
"he's not gonna bother you." johnny states, with a finality that is as stunning as it is comforting.
"...if you say so." you don't press any further, wanting to simply move on and forget about the whole thing. you'd gladly never think about that arrogant private again.
before you know it, the two of you are standing in the hall outside your room. his grip around your waist loosens as you push open the door, and you're all too aware of the cold feeling left behind as he lets go.
"thank you, for helping me." you shoot him a grateful smile, grabbing your crutch from where it leant against the wall, propping it under your arm.
"course," johnny pauses, looking past you to something in your room. "you… kept the gardenias?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving. you tilt your head, a silent question, but he's still staring at the flowers.
"yeah, they're…" you begin, but his words have you pausing too; he didn't seem like the kind of person to be interested in floristry, you'd certainly never heard him say anything about it before. but somehow, he'd identified the flowers on your end table with no problem. "...they're nice. i like them, even if they do look a little sad now."
when he finally meets your eyes again, there's a distinct redness to his face that wasn't there before, and you feel your heart beginning to race with renewed hope. it could be that he just likes flowers, but if he already knew they were gardenias, maybe he…
"right, i, uh– i should get going, or ghost might actually kill me." johnny's voice had a dazed quality to it when he spoke.
"alright, i'll see you later then," you give him a small smile as you step back into the hall next to him. the two of you look at each other for a moment before you speak again, holding back a laugh, "you gonna go, or just stand there all day?"
your words seem to snap him out of the trance he’d been in, and he shakes his head in an almost comical manner, "right! right, sorry, bye!" he sputters, waving over his shoulder as he jogs away. you chuckle to yourself as he goes, and start walking the opposite direction to get started with your own work.
✹✹✹
you didn't see soap again until the next day, considering that he was strangely absent from mealtimes both last night and today. thankfully the incident from the day before hadn't done any further damage to your ankle, so you were up and about without the need for your crutch after a good night's rest.
you'd just dropped off a folder of paperwork in price's office – which you'd completed in fairly good time, thanks to being stuck behind a desk for nearly two weeks – but as you descend the staircase, you're almost knocked over by someone flying around the corner. you caught yourself with a hand on the railing, blinking away your surprise and glaring at whoever had carelessly bumped into you.
much to your chagrin, it was jackson, and you feel your face naturally falling into a frown at the realisation. you’d been expecting him to try and change your mind about yesterday, but true to johnny’s words, he had yet to bother you about it; actually, you hadn’t seen him at all since then, not even at breakfast or lunch, but it's not as if you were complaining.
though, as you stare down at him from the step above, you notice a deep purple bruise decorating his cheekbone that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. your frown turns from malice to confusion as you wonder how he could have gotten it in the span of less than a day, it looked like he’d taken a serious punch. you couldn’t say you felt bad for him, but it did look painful.
"listen, about yesterday… i- i lied,." jackson mutters, eyes glued to the floor to avoid your own. he was shuffling in place, as if he was preparing to bolt at any second. your eyes narrow as you process his words.
"what?"
he clears his throat. "i lied. it wasn’t me, i just said it was because one of the guys bet me i couldn’t get you to go out with me." he admits. the way he keeps avoiding your eyes, glancing around like he was waiting for someone to jump out at him has you a little suspicious, but your heart still soars when you realise what he means.
jackson wasn't your secret admirer, so your hopeless romantic heart could still dream that it was johnny. the flutter of butterflies even distracts you from the insulting notion that he only wanted to go out with you for a bet.
"seriously?" you ask, your shock evident in your voice as you stare him down. finally his eyes land on your own, an embarrassed grimace overtaking his nervous expression. it's a stark, satisfying difference to his arrogant overconfidence from before.
"yeah. i’m sorry, okay? i don’t want any trouble, it was just–" he cuts himself off, but when you give him a questioning look, he can't tear his eyes from the space behind you, and only mumbles what sounds like a ‘sorry’ before scurrying off back the way he came. you watch him go, thoroughly confused by the whole interaction, but not a moment later a voice from where he was staring brings you out of your thoughts.
"y’alright? little shit wasn’t botherin’ you, was he?" soap's voice cuts through the quiet, and you turn to see him descending the stairs to stand next to you.
you shake your head, "no, no, he just–" you hesitate, your mind going back to yesterday and the gardenias. "he lied, it wasn't him."
"really?" he asks, but his voice doesn't sound surprised at all. you're not sure if you imagined it, but for a moment his expression changes into something like satisfaction.
"yeah, he was about to say something else too, but he just ran off," you sigh, walking down the last few steps. soap follows close behind, a hand hovering near your back. "did you see that bruise on his face? wonder how he got it…"
"looked nasty, eh?" a laugh escapes him, and you admire the way his lips curve, the creases around his eyes as his smile reaches them. "maybe he finally got what was comin' to him."
his face was close to yours, a lot closer than you could reasonably handle without losing your nerve and making a fool of yourself. realising you had yet to respond, you clear your throat and start walking down the corridor, your eyes to the floor and a burning in your cheeks.
"if he never speaks to me again, it'll still be too soon…" you grumble, willing your heart to calm down as he comes up next to you in a few long strides. "anyway, what have you been up to? i haven't seen you all day." with a quick glance, you see the easy smile he has falter slightly.
"i was, ah–" he avoids your eye as he stops himself, a beat of silence passes before he continues "nevermind, i– i was… looking for you." your heart skips a beat, but you scold it for being so eager; the two of you were teammates, friends, he could be looking for you for any number of reasons.
"looking for me? what's up?" you turn your head to face him as you walk, a curious tilt to your brow.
johnny comes to a stop, and so do you a moment after. he looks at you, fidgety and shifting on his feet, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. the look on his face is unsure, uncomfortable, like he was debating running off like jackson had done a minute ago.
he's nervous, that much you can tell. but despite the slightly awkward tension, you you wait for whatever it is he's struggling to say.
"i… uh– y'know what, i actually forgot." johnny hangs his head, pulling his hands from his pockets and scratching the back of his neck.
at his words your heart sinks, and you can't help the disappointed look that takes over your expression. "oh? are you–"
before you can finish, he drops a hand on your shoulder and steps ahead of you, turning around so you're face to face. "listen, ghost is waiting for me, so i gotta run," he smiles again, but it's weaker this time, almost forced as it doesn't quite meet his eyes.
"right… better not keep him waiting."
"right," his reply is short, and the tension between you only grows every moment he avoids your eyes. "i'll see you later though, promise." he flashes you another false smile, gently patting your shoulder, before turning on his heel and swiftly escaping down the corridor.
"bye, johnny." you release a sigh, from longing or exasperation you're not sure, watching his form disappear through the doors.
✹✹✹
despite his promise, once again you don't see soap for the rest of the day. at dinner you'd questioned ghost on his whereabouts, but he only told you that he had no idea either. this time however, you got the strong feeling he was lying to you.
still though, you couldn't find it within yourself to be annoyed with him. you could see clear as day that something was going on with johnny, and if he didn't want to confide in you about whatever it is, then you certainly won't be the one to push him.
having finished today's obligations, you decided to head straight to your room once you'd finished eating. you open your door, a sigh escaping you as you prepare to collapse for the night, and stop dead in your tracks.
a folded sheet of paper lays in front of you, standing out against the emptiness of your floor, crumpled like it had been screwed up and flattened out again. a sense of déjà vù overcomes you, for last week, when you'd received the sketches of yourself in the same way. for a moment all you can do is stand there, staring at the paper, processing.
eventually, you do step into your room, shutting the door quietly behind you and picking the paper up from the floor. you keep it folded until you're sitting on the edge of your mattress, hands shaking ever so slightly with the anticipation.
you're not sure what to think, as you sit burning holes in the paper with your stare. after yesterday, you thought you were done with the idea of your secret admirer; but then again, jackson had admitted to you earlier that he'd lied when he met you yesterday, and the whole reason you weren't as interested after that was because your pipe dream of the mystery person being johnny had been shattered. but now that the identity of your admirer was once again a mystery, you couldn't help but want to dream like that again.
with a defeated groan, you decide to just rip off the bandaid and read the note. you unfold it, immediately noticing the scratchy handwriting – the opposite of the note jackson gave you, so thankfully it couldn't be from him.
you hear your heartbeat in your ears as your eyes scan the words in front of you.
i stayed up all night trying to write this note, but nothing i came up with felt good enough, so i'm just going to say it.
i'm your secret admirer.
i know you probably won't believe me after that bastard yesterday, but i need you to know anyway. i used to think that love just wasn't my thing, that i'd never find someone i wanted to spend my life with, but that changed when i met you. i didn’t realise it at first, but it's always been you. you're my person, and i can't hide it anymore.
i love you.
maybe i'm a coward for giving you a note instead of telling you face to face. but if you don't feel the same, you can throw it away, or burn it or something, and i'll never bring it up again.
your heart,
johnny
the silence in your room borders on deafening as you sit completely still, reeling from what you'd just read. you didn't realise you'd stopped breathing until you release a shaky breath.
all this time, it was johnny.
every longing glance, every touch that lingered just a little too long, the racing pulse every time he says your name; it was all reciprocated.
every time you thought you could never have him as anything more than your best friend, you were wrong.
he cared enough to leave you a pick-me-up after a hard mission, buy you flowers when you got injured, draw you the way he saw you, gift you things he took the time to notice you like.
all this time… he'd felt the exact same way you do.
you set the note down next to you, bringing a shaky hand up to cover your mouth that had fallen open in shock. there was only one thing to do, in your mind, and that was to run into johnny's arms and make up for all the lost time you've spent pining over him.
in seemingly no time at all, you find yourself standing at johnny's door, your fist poised to knock. theres a moment of hesitation, but before your apprehension can cloud your mind, you let your knuckles rap on the wood once, twice, three times, and take a step back as you wait for a response. after a second or two – which felt a lot longer than it actually was – you hear the sounds of footsteps from inside.
another moment passes, and you assume johnny is standing on the other side with his heart in his throat just like you, short-lived before he finally swings the door open.
he looks at you, eyes wide and like a deer caught in headlights, the way he holds himself uncharacteristically shy as you stare each other down.
"the note," you finally murmur, and johnny almost flinches, clearly fighting the urge to look away from you. "tell me you meant it." you continue, taking a miniscule step closer to him. you hear his breath catch in his chest.
"every word." he whispers, gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes again, and your heart misses a beat.
with no hesitation this time, you hook your arms around his neck and pull him towards you, crushing his mouth against yours in a desperate kiss that's as much teeth as it is lips.
johnny groans into your mouth, his hands flying to your waist as he turns and walks you backwards into his room. the door gets kicked shut behind him once he's got you inside, neither of you breaking apart more than enough to draw a single ragged breath before meeting in the middle again. with another needy whine into you he pushes you up against the wall, caging you in with his broad shoulders and his arms around your waist.
the weight of his arms around you, the feeling of his stubble prickly against your face, the softness of his lips against yours; it's everything you've been waiting for, and now you finally have him, he tastes sweeter than you could've ever imagined.
the two of you stay like that for moments that feel like hours in each other's embrace, only pulling away when your lungs are burning and your lips are swollen. leaning your head back against the wall, his eyes meet yours with such adoration it sends your heart fluttering all over again.
"i'll take that as a good sign," he mumbles, a lopsided grin lifting his features. his joy is so infectious you can't help but mirror his expression as you drop your head to rest on his shoulder.
his chest rumbles with an airy, disbelieving laugh and he tugs you impossibly closer, resting his cheek against the side of your head. standing chest to chest now, you can feel the hammering of his heart against yours and the way his skin burns under your touch.
"you’re my person too," you murmur into him, one of your hands moving up to tangle in the strands of his mohawk, "always have been."
johnny's arms wind tighter around you as he releases a deep, content sigh. he's hugged you countless times before but somehow, this feels different while still staying exactly the same. the heat radiating from him is soothing like it always has been, the knowledge that your feelings are reciprocated only making it that much sweeter.
"why'd it take us so long, eh?" he utters, tender and loving in the way he runs his hands over your back and sides.
"we're just idiots…" you reply, "gaz is gonna have a field day with this."
johnny laughs again, pressing his lips to the side of your head so you can feel his smile. "oh, he clocked us a long time ago, bonnie."
you can't help but groan as you imagine how gaz will tease the both of you for how oblivious you've both been.
he lifts you up by his grip around your waist, carrying you over to his bed and flopping down onto his back with you on his chest. a satisfied groan escapes him as he settles, burying his face into your hair and inhaling a deep breath.
you're enveloped by the scent of him – gunpowder, and the faint smell of something burnt, but it's pleasant and familiar nonetheless.
"yer stayin' with me tonight, non negotiable." he murmurs, running a hand up and down the length of your spine.
"fine by me." you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, and find them already locked on you. "so, about jackson…"
johnny scoffs, lightheartedly frowning in response. "yer gonna bring his name up while yer in my bed?"
"he looked really spooked when he saw you earlier," you begin, smoothing your hand over his chest. his eyes widen at your words, his hand freezing as he looks away from you with a distinctly guilty expression on his face. you narrow your eyes, holding back the amused smirk pulling at your lips. "johnny… did you…"
he clears his throat, and by the way he can't hold your gaze for more than a second you can tell he knows he's been caught. there's no stopping the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at his reaction.
"...i may have, uh– potentially put some fear o'god into the little bawbag…"
summary: you and soap get to talking about your love life. gaz gets jealous.
warnings: little bit of miscommunication, jealousy, you and gaz make out, the mildest of spice
ao3
sleepless nights were not a rarity for you. it comes with the territory in this line of work, unfortunately, something you and your fellow sergeants have in common. it also wasn't out of place for the three of you to find each other in the rec room well into the early hours of the morning, which is exactly where you'd ended up tonight.
perhaps it was the result of the insomnia that had kept you up far later than your mind could handle, but you'd foolishly divulged that you hadn't been on an actual date in a depressingly long time – soap seemed to find that far more amusing than you would've liked, and quickly took it upon himself to demonstrate his unique ability to make you wish you'd kept your mouth shut.
"c'mon, you cannae be serious," soap wears a shit-eating grin as he leans forward in the armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees as you roll your eyes. gaz stays quiet beside you, which you're silently grateful for, but you do feel his eyes on the side of your head.
"i just don't have the time for it," you sigh, resting your elbow on the arm of the sofa and dropping your hand into your palm.
it's true, your job didn't allow room for much of a social life, what with being sent all over the world for months at a time– really, it was a miracle you did anything except work.
that wasn't the main reason, he was sitting on your other side, but you'd be damned before you revealed that to soap, of all people.
"well, if you can't get any, then there's nae hope for the rest of us." soap chuckles, reaching over and playfully nudging your arm.
you let out a groan, shoving his hand away and dragging your own down your face. "shut up, soap, that's not how it is…"
he laughs again at your reaction, still showing no signs of relenting. "maybe i'll have to take you out, then."
"on what? a pipe-bomb masterclass?" you scoff, the grin on your lips betraying your attempt at looking unimpressed. both of them laugh at that, soap raising his hands in a gesture that says 'so what?'.
"dinnae try'n tell me that wouldn't be an excitin' date." he reasons, tilting his head and quirking his brow at you. you narrow your eyes, humming in faux-consideration and playfully tapping a finger on your chin.
"for a pyromaniac, maybe…" gaz grumbles from beside you. the sofa moves under you as he shifts his weight around, and if you weren't so tired you would've noticed the way his voice trailed off in such an uncharacteristic manner.
"maybe," you laugh, shaking your head at the very idea of it, and the fact that soap definitely would if he could convince someone to go along with it. "that's if i don't wind up dead by the end of it."
"i wouldn't let anythin' happen to ya, bonnie, cross my heart." he grins, making an x over his chest with one finger.
"but you'd still make a homemade bomb right in front of me?" you lift an eyebrow at his teasing expression.
"my two favourite things; a good explosive and a good view,"
"oh god, shut the fuck up." you groan, reaching to swat the back of his head as you stand up. "that's enough for tonight, i need sleep."
"think i'll call it a night too." gaz mumbles half-heartedly from his spot beside you, quickly standing and making his way to the door without another word. you frown, confused by his sudden coldness, waving to soap and calling a quiet 'goodnight' before you step out into the hallway after him.
"night, bonnie, i'll pick you up at eight!" soap calls, loud enough for you to hear in the corridor, earning a soft chuckle and another shake of your head as you catch up to gaz.
he doesn’t even spare you a glance as you trail behind him, marching ahead with a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. his abrupt switch in attitude concerned you; he was fine not even five minutes ago, what could’ve happened to change that?
"you okay, gaz?" you ask with a hesitance that feels strange directed at him, someone you’re usually so confident around. for a moment there's no response, but he does slow down slightly, taking a right into a corner of the building with the lights shut off. you follow still, growing more concerned with every second that passes.
you’re about to ask again, but a few paces into the shadows gaz turns sharply on his heel, catching you off guard with how suddenly he stops walking and causing you to bump into his chest.
"gaz…?" you utter, your quiet voice a ripple in the stillness of the empty corridor. he meets your eye as you look quizzically back at him, a conflicted expression taking over his features.
you open your mouth to say something more, but before you can get the words out he's laying a hand on your shoulder and gently pushing you against the wall. the hand on you shifts to rest in the crook of your neck and shoulder, while he leans the other on the wall with his hand next to your head.
your breath catches in your throat, and your previous exhaustion is completely forgotten. the way he's looking at you, staring straight through you with that deep brown gaze and right into your soul, it's like a spell has fallen over you.
kyle leans even closer, caging you in with his broad shoulders and blocking out the world around him, so he's the only thing you can focus on– as if you could possibly think about anything else when he's touching you so tenderly.
"don't go out with him…" he utters, his eyes flickering back and forth as they search yours. the pause between you hangs heavy in the air. when your questioning expression doesn't change, he takes his bottom lip between his teeth and drops his gaze, letting his eyes fall shut as he continues. "don't fuckin' go out with him, please…"
"wh…" you stutter, trailing off as you wonder inwardly what the hell he's talking about; and then it hits you.
there's another pause, and you swallow thickly at the realisation that he was talking about your earlier conversation with soap; that he was reacting like this because he thought you would actually take johnny seriously. "kyle… he was joking."
"i'm not." he mutters in response, shifting closer again by resting his forearm against the wall instead of his hand. he's looking at you again, with heavy eyes that keep you entranced by him. you can't help the uneven breath that escapes you under his intense gaze and the way his thumb begins to stroke your jaw. "let me take you out, i'll give you anything you want if you'll have me, love."
it's hard to concentrate on anything other than the sparks his touch creates as he caresses your skin. you're sure he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his fingertips. there's no one but him in this moment, the minimal distance between you still somehow feeling too great as you subconsciously lean your face closer to his.
the silence and your heartbeat are so loud in your ears, you almost don’t hear his next words.
"can i kiss you?" he asks, little more than a whisper, tilting his head so his lips ghost over yours. you breath another shuddering sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed as you nod almost imperceptibly.
"please."
time seems to slow as the word hangs in the air, the warmth radiating from him seeps into your skin as he closes the final distance and presses his lips against yours.
the hand on your neck travels up to your face, cradling your cheek with a touch so soft, almost disbelieving, like he expected you to disappear at any moment.
"i'm yours, love," he mumbles against you, never straying too far from your lips as he caresses your cheek, "i'm all yours…"
you loop your arms around his neck, knocking his hat loose in the process, but neither of you pay it any mind as it lands on the floor at your feet – too lost in yourselves to care. in the brief moment you part for air, a breathy whisper of his name escapes you, and as if a switch has flipped, his mouth is back against yours with a fervour that you struggle to keep up with.
he's running his hand up and down the length of your waist, your hip, hiking your leg up and around his side, dragging his touch over your thigh, like he can't get enough of you. it's intoxicating, the way you pant into each other, flush against one another yet still itching to get closer.
your lungs burn as he pulls away again, just enough to whisper, his voice low and needy, "god– the things you do to me, sweetheart,"
his touch is reverent as he takes you in; your touch, your skin, your taste, the sounds he pulls from you as he kneads the flesh of your waist under your shirt. it sends your head spinning, the blood rushing in your ears stopping you from thinking about anything other than the feel of his lips on yours.
you trail one of your hands down his body, over his chest and down to the hem of his shirt, where you slip your fingers under to rest against his toned stomach. his skin is hot under your hand, drawing another groan of your name from him, and he slowly moves his hands up your own abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his fingers–
"awh, c'mon!"
the sound of soap's voice startles you into knocking your head against the wall behind you, both yours and kyle's hands darting back from their less than appropriate positions.
you look over to the scott, a sheepish grin on your face at his disapproving face. kyle buries his face into your shoulder, a groan of both embarrassment and annoyance escaping his chest. you resist the urge to laugh, instead running your hands up and down his back in an attempt to comfort him.
"fucks sake, soap…" kyle grumbles, wrapping his arms back around your waist. he doesn't look up at your friend, opting to keep his undoubtedly embarrassed expression hidden by your neck.
"think i'll have to cancel that date after all." you cant keep the amusement off your face when you speak, earning a dramatic eye roll from soap.
"too right, ye animals…" he mutters, shaking his head in exasperation as he disappears around the corner again. neither of you move as you listen to his footsteps retreating down the corridor, staying frozen in place until it's quiet once more.
only once you're sure johnny's gone does the laugh you've been stifling bubble up from your chest, escaping into the otherwise quiet night as kyle finally lifts his head to meet your gaze.
he eyes the bashful smile pulling at your lips and lets out a laugh of his own, pressing his forehead back to yours and letting his eyes fall closed again.
killing soap could wait until tomorrow; right now, it was just you and him, and that's how you want to keep it.
note: hoo boy, this one's a doozy. didn't mean to project so hard with this one, but fuck it we ball ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
pairing: ghost x gn!reader
wc: 5.3k
no use of y/n
reader's callsign is 'stingray'
summary: you reach a breaking point with simon, and he finally realises what he needs to do to fix things.
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, some light violence, ghost finally getting his shit together, arguing, kitchen floor romance, fluff
ao3
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simon didn't see you at home. in fact, he found out from soap that you went straight to the pub with him and the others. you didn't even drop your car off, which meant you weren't going to get drunk, you were going to avoid him.
it stung – a feeling he’s become quite familiar with lately. but you wanted him to leave you alone, to give you space, and seeing as he had no idea what else to do, he would oblige.
he sits at the kitchen table, across from the chair that's become yours through some unspoken agreement. a random book is in his hands – an attempt to keep himself occupied, but he's been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes and he hasn't absorbed a single word. you are the only thing on his mind, no matter how hard he concentrates on what's in front of him.
slamming his book shut with a frustrated grunt, he gives in to the fact that he's not going to be able to do anything meaningful until you get home. perhaps trying to talk now that you'd be alone would work out better than his previous attempts.
he intends to go straight up to his room when he leaves the kitchen, but for some reason simon finds himself standing outside the door to your room, peering into the darkness through the gap where you'd left it ajar.
he shouldn't go in, he knows that. from the start he'd promised himself to give you complete privacy – he hadn't even set foot in the living room since you'd moved in, apart from the times he brought you hot chocolate and put you to bed. it was the least he could do, offer you a space to call your own, since you really didn’t have much else.
but simon missed you; he missed being near you, the scent of your shampoo and the laundry detergent you use, just basking in your presence. he wouldn't touch anything, he rationalised, he just wanted to be surrounded by something that was you.
it’s dark, but he doesn't even bother to turn the light on, the hall light through the door illuminates the room enough for him to see where he's going. the armchair on the far side of the room is unoccupied, so he collapses there with a deep exhale.
the solitude must be driving him insane, because when he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that you’re there with him, sitting across from him with one of his books in your hands. the disappointment that washes over him when he opens his eyes to be alone again isn’t rational, but knowing that still doesn’t dull the ache.
on the mantle, he notices something definitely not left there by him; first, he spots the flowers he gave you, a little wilted and slightly squashed, sitting in a vase that was here when he moved in. he feels a fleeting sense of relief at that, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd thrown them straight in the bin.
but more interestingly, there's a photo frame, something simon owns exactly zero of, so it must be something of yours. he stands up, his curiosity getting the better of him, and takes the frame gently in his hand. tilting it into the light so the photo is visible, he feels a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sight of a younger you surrounded by your previous team.
you’re grinning widely, making bunny ears behind one of your teammates crouched in front of you, while someone behind does the same to you. as his eyes follow their arm to their face, poking out just above your head, he feels a sharp frown pull at his brows.
it’s anderson.
simon blinks a few times, in the hopes the he was simply imagining things – that his hatred for the man and lack of a good night's sleep was causing him to see things, but no matter how many times he looked away and back again, anderson’s face refused to change.
the urge to smash the photo builds up like steadily boiling water the longer he stares at it, so he places it back on the mantle before it gets too strong. why was he just now finding out you used to work with anderson? it explained why he was so overly familiar with you. was that why you liked him more? you had to be close with him – closer than simon was with you.
were you… involved with him?
the very thought makes his heart sink like a stone. his head feels light as he stumbles back out of your room, the acidic taste of bile rising in his throat.
not a moment after the door clicks shut, simon feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pushing his spiralling train of thought to the back of his mind. he pulls it out, the screen lit up with johnny's name on the caller id, but he doesn't want to answer it.
he lets it ring until the missed call notification appears instead. expecting that to be it, simon moves to shove his phone back in his pocket, but it buzzes again before he can get there.
it's a text this time – more of them coming through before he's had time to read the first. with a tired exhale, he opens the messages from johnny.
you coming pub?
20:23 pm
you should
20:23 pm
sting is here ;)
20:24 pm
no.
20:25 pm
why notttttttt
20:25 pm
cmon just get down here
20:25 pm
seriously i think you should come we need you
20:26
fine.
20:28 pm
let's fucking go
20:28 pm
better run tho be quick
20:28 pm
simon breathes a sigh of exasperation, but grabs his jacket off the hook. he doesn't even bother to change his balaclava for a more socially acceptable mask. whatever johnny's reasoning was for getting him to come to the pub, he was secretly grateful for the excuse to go out and see you – whether he would actually get to talk to you or simply watch you from the sidelines.
✹✹✹
slipping in quietly through the side entrance, simon is relieved to find the pub not nearly as rowdy as it is normally. it seems to be only the one-four-one and their associate unit mixed in with the locals, rather than being packed with soldiers like usual.
immediately he spots price, taking up a booth in the far corner, who raises a hand in greeting to him but otherwise stays put. the gesture draws johnny and gaz's attention to him, both of whom give him enthusiastic waves of their own.
he doesn't see you with them, which prompts him to scour the rest of the pub as he trudges over to his comrades. it doesn't take him long to find you over by the bar, though when he spots anderson unnecessarily close to you, he feels like his heart might just stop.
now that he knows you and him have history, simon feels a pit of hopelessness in his chest that he knows won't ever go away as long as he has to see you be happy with someone else.
it should be me, he thinks, a bitter downturn to his lips under his mask.
"why am i here?" he grumbles when he finally makes it to the booth, choosing to stay standing at the end of the table rather than sitting down with them.
"because you need'ta sort out this thing between you and sting." johnny replies, pushing himself up to stand next to simon and giving his shoulder a firm pat.
simon rolls his eyes to hide the way soap’s words make him flinch. "i've tried. they won't listen to me." he mumbles. he sees price shake his head in a show of disappointment, which only makes him feel even worse about the whole situation. aside from you, the captain’s been the hardest on him for the way he fucked things up, and while the sergeants clearly think he's an idiot, they've done their best to support him.
"then make them listen!" gaz exclaims, "explain yourself, tell them you'd do anything for them," he gestures one hand to where you’re standing at the bar, "tell them you love them!"
"i don't–" he begins to protest as he follows gaz’s hand, but the words die on his tongue when his eyes land on you; the dim lighting of the pub illuminates the way you smile so pleasantly, simon’s heart skips a beat. turning away from you before he becomes too entranced, he shoots gaz a light glare. "keep your voice down…"
"just tell them, l.t." gaz has an easy, knowing smile on his face when he meets simon’s eyes. looking between him and johnny, who wears a similar expression, he lets out a tired sigh.
"you’re a pain in my arse, both of you." he grumbles, massaging the creases in his forehead over the fabric of his mask.
"you're gonna do it, right?" soap grins from behind his pint, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that has simon groaning, but nodding nonetheless. "good lad, i knew you had it in ya!" soap claps him on the back once more before taking his seat again.
before any of them can bother him further, the sound of raised voices reaches their ears from the bar. not loud enough to hear what they're saying, but enough to know that there's a problem.
he's not sure what he's expecting when he turns around; but seeing you pushing a very drunk anderson’s arm off your shoulder with a scowl on your face, simon finds himself stalking over to you before he can even think about it.
"c'mon, we're good together, we have history!" anderson's words are slurred, leaving no mystery as to just how drunk he is. he leans further into your personal space, and simon watches your face scrunch up as you lean away, placing your hand on anderson’s chest to keep him at bay. "you're not seriously into that freak, are you? with that creepy fuckin' mask?"
that makes simon pause. he wanted to rip anderson away from you – of course he did – but he also wanted to hear your response, whether you would denounce him or not.
"oi!" you exclaim, an incredulous tone to your voice. "he is not a freak, don't be so rude!"
the way you defend him makes his heart swell. you also didn't deny what anderson said, and though he knows it's arrogant of him, simon still holds out hope that you don't truly hate him.
with the tiniest smirk under his mask, simon closes the distance, coming to stand at your side between you and anderson.
"sting." he addresses you, meeting your eyes and completely ignoring the annoyed mumbling from the idiot on his other side. "you alright?"
the look you give him is one of surprise and relief, but you don't get to say a single word before anderson is pushing simon's shoulder so they're facing each other.
"lieu‐lieutenant ghost, fancy seein' you here," anderson is clearly annoyed at his intrusion, poking a finger into his chest that gets slapped away just as quickly. "come to show everyone how big 'n tough you are, eh?"
"andy, stop it." you hiss, pushing him back again and stepping between him and simon.
anderson scoffs at you. "why should i? we're not at work, he can't do anything, he's just some random loser." he glares up at simon, a pitiful attempt at intimidation he knows he wouldn't dream of trying if he was sober.
"give it a rest, sergeant." simon grumbles, rolling his eyes at the way anderson puffs his chest out and stands up straighter.
"y'know, sting was right, you're a huge fuckin' arsehole," anderson spits, ignoring the way you try to keep him away when he steps around you be face to face with simon again. "can't blame 'em for not wantin' to put up with you anymore."
simon flinches ever so slightly at that, but thankfully anderson is too drunk to notice.
"that's enough." he growls, his nails digging painfully into his palms.
"no, no! what th'fuck is your problem, man?" anderson shouts, shoving simon's chest – which doesn't move him, but pisses him off anyway. "you think you're so much better than me, but you hide your ugly mug behind that fuckin' mask like a pussy!" his raised voice draws the attention of the other patrons, and an uneasy silence falls over the room as the background chatter halts.
"just fuckin' shut up," simon rolls his eyes again, shifting his gaze over to you and jerking his head in a gesture for you to move. "c'mon."
"and don't even get me started on sting!" anderson continues, pointing a swaying finger in your face which gets slapped away the same as before. "you're so obsessed with them, it's creepy as shit, everyone knows it!"
"i'm not–"
"they must be a fuckin' freak n'all, to be into you, you're both fucked in the head–"
"watch your fuckin' mouth." simon spits, taking the front of anderson's shirt roughly in his fist. he could insult simon until his last breath, but to drag your name into this ignited the flame of real anger in his chest.
"ghost, let's just go." you grasp his wrist, the one holding anderson, and perhaps if simon could focus on anything other than the smug little bastard he's moments away from punching, he might’ve felt the warmth that your touch brought him.
"–that's why they have go to the bloody psy-psychiatrist all the time, they're fuckin' mental–" the moment the words left anderson’s mouth, simon feels every sliver of restraint he had immediately leave his body; the only sound he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears as his face twists in rage.
"shut the fuck up." he seethes, rearing his free arm back to throw possibly the most satisfying hit of his life; but before he can land it, his arm is immobilised he’s being yanked away from the sergeant.
suddenly price is in his face with a more than disapproving frown, walking him backwards with a firm hand on his shoulder. "get a hold of yourself!" he yells, commanding and abrasive.
simon grunts and pulls price's hand off of him, leaning around the captain just in time to see you deliver a fierce slap to anderson’s face that resonates in the quiet of the room.
anderson’s head whips to the side with the blow, the shell-shocked expression displaying the clear bruise forming on his cheek and his ego. simon had to admit, the sight of that prick with a bright red handprint on his cheek was incredibly gratifying.
"don't fucking talk about me like that." you spit at him, the most intense glare he's ever seen on you creasing your features. simon notices the way it softens when your eyes meet his, as johnny pushes you away from anderson – who's still reeling from the hit, but nobody bothers to take care of him.
he can't take his eyes off of you. it's like the rest of the world has just faded away and you're the only other person left, because right now, you're the only person that matters.
its drizzling by the time you drag him out by the arm. the damp air has a somewhat sobering effect on him as he allows you to pull him along with you.
"i could’ve handled that." you mutter angrily over your shoulder. you're taking him in the direction of the car park, the orange glow of the lamp posts casting shadows on your irritated expression that he finds himself admiring like fine art.
"i'd do it again." simon replies, still having never once taken his eyes off of your form. when you let go of his arm, having arrived at your car, he immediately feels the absence of your touch. he watches you walk around to the driver's side, meeting his eyes over the car and pausing in your tracks.
you hold his gaze for a moment, before looking down and shaking your head.
"just get in the fucking car." you mutter, opening the driver’s side door and disappearing from his sight. he follows suit without question, the car shifting under his weight as he settles into the passenger seat.
you pull out of the car park without another word, your face hard as you pointedly ignore his eyes on you. the silence between is thick, without even the white noise of the radio to break it.
in some way, simon’s glad you chose him over anderson, that you're driving him home rather than taking the side of that idiot. but, then again, he remembers the history the two of you must have, and he feels mildly guilty for potentially breaking up a long-term friendship of yours. not too guilty, though; the guy was a certified dickhead.
when the tension becomes too much, he decides to ask the only question that's been circling his mind like a vulture since he laid eyes on your photo.
"you know him." simon mutters. it's more of a statement than a question, really. "i saw the picture."
he sees your eyes narrow, his own still locked on your profile as you face the road. "you went through my stuff?" you reply, a small frown pulling at your brows.
"no, i just saw the picture." for a moment, he’s afraid he’d unintentionally started another argument, but his words only evoke a deeply exhausted sigh from you.
"he's just one of my old teammates." you reply, the sadness in your voice tugging at simon’s heartstrings. "i thought he was my friend, but obviously i'm not a very good judge of character, am i?"
perhaps that was a dig aimed at simon too, but he can only really focus on how disappointed you sound.
"it’s not your fault. he’s just a twat." he attempts to reassure you, to hopefully make you feel better, but he can't tell how successful it was.
"i know that now, i just–" you huff, cutting yourself off as you pull up outside home. you shut off the engine, massaging your temples with the same frown still on your face. he's tempted to say something more, but no words come to him.
"nevermind, i don't even wanna think about it." you sigh, quickly getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you. he follows behind, the lights of your car flashing as you lock it, illuminating the way your shoulders are slumped as you disappear into the house.
simon figures you'll want time to cool off after what happened, perhaps a cold cloth for your hand that's undoubtedly stinging after such a powerful hit. the memory is enough to make him smile lightly, a feeling of pride blooming in his chest for you.
he creeps upstairs on autopilot, his gaze lingering on the closed door to your room as he passes by.
it's still quite early in the night, so he's not surprised when he hears your door open and shut again downstairs – you going to sit in the kitchen, he assumes.
he wanted to talk with you alone, without the threat of anderson interrupting him again – and now is as good a time as any.
you're sitting at the kitchen table with your laptop open on some real estate site when he shuffles into the room. he stands in the doorway, watching as you continue sifting through nearby flat listings without looking over to him.
neither of you speak. you're not willing to break the silence first, and neither is he.
for a moment, simon just stands there, staring at you. he can see you watching him from the corner of your eye from where he shifting uncomfortably by the door. he half expects you to tell him to piss off, but to his surprise, you stay quiet. taking your silence as a sign that you aren’t, in fact, revolted by his presence, he inches closer and closer to you until he's standing directly next to where you're sitting.
still, neither of you say a word.
a minute or two passes with him looming over you, watching as you scroll through page after page of available flats, a shadowy figure in your peripheral.
eventually you find a reasonably priced listing, and when you click it, only then does ghost speak up.
"you don't need to leave." he says, cringing under his mask at the sound of his voice. he hopes you don’t pick up on how pathetic he sounds. "you already have a house."
"what? what are you talking about?" your eyes remain locked on your screen as you reply, voice flat and disinterested.
simon releases a shaky sigh, his nerve quickly faltering the longer you continue to ignore him. there's a brief pause as you inspect the words on your screen, before simon brings his hand up behind your laptop and firmly closes it. with an annoyed huff you finally look at him, piercing him with a narrow glare.
"you live here." he murmurs, staring intently back at you, fighting with himself to keep his expression neutral, to stay strong.
with me. the unspoken words hang heavy in the air.
"i can't stay here, there's only one bed for christ's sake." you grumble, brow furrowed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. "my back can't handle sleeping on that sofa forever."
"then sleep in my bed." there’s no hesitation in his words; he would gladly sleep on the lumpy sofa-bed if it meant you would be more comfortable – if it meant you would stay. the sound of your chair scraping the floor echoes in the stillness of the kitchen as you stand up, to be closer to eye level with him.
"oh what, and leave you on the sofa? in your own home?" you scoff, shaking your head as you step around him.
"well, yeah. you– i…" he reaches a hand out to touch you, stopping himself just above your elbow before he pulls back. the gesture stops you in your tracks, drawing your gaze back to his eyes. "don't leave." he murmurs, just above a whisper.
your mouth opens to respond, but his words catch you completely off guard. your eyes flit down, and he knows you can see the way his hands tremble at his side. he felt so… vulnerable, a word he never expected to apply to him, of all people, but you had that effect on him.
"just stay…" he whispers, a desperate plea as he squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything except you and him. "please…"
another tension filled silence stretches between you. he opens his eyes again, blinking as he meets your gaze. there's a profound sadness there, dragging your features downwards in a frown that sinks his stomach.
your sigh breaks the silence.
"i can't keep doing this, ghost." you mumble, dipping your head and rubbing your eyes.
"...what?"
"this! one minute you're nice to me, then you're a complete dickhead, and then you're back to being nice again." you exclaim, waving your hands around in frustration to amplify your point. "it’s exhausting."
"that's not– i'm not doing it on purpose." he frowns, the internal panic that arguing with you causes rising to the surface.
"this is what i mean! you're just making excuses!" your voice has a desperation to it that strikes him like an arrow through the heart. you turn sharply away from him, focusing your gaze somewhere on the wall.
"then just tell me what you want, for fucks sake!" he pleads, shuffling to stay in front of you and try to coax your eyes back to him. "whatever it is, i'll do it!"
"tell you what i want?" you laugh wryly, looking back to him with an expression he can only describe as offended. "i want you to apologise to me! i want you to say you're fucking sorry, and i don't want to have to wring it out of you!"
your words ring in his ears, bouncing off the walls and back at him like an echo chamber.
"you have never apologised to me! not even once! after all the shit you've put me through, i have never heard the words 'i'm sorry' out of your mouth!" you scowl at him, your eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall as your voice breaks. "thats all i've ever wanted from you!"
simon can't shake off the stunned feeling your words impart upon him; all this time, had he really never apologised? he'd just assumed that you knew he was sorry, without ever having actually said it.
the answer was practically smacking him in the face the entire time, and he still somehow managed to completely miss it. no wonder you were fed up with him – no wonder everyone kept looking at him like he was an idiot.
he's never felt more like a fucking moron than he does in this moment.
he's broken out of his haze by the movement of you sitting back down in your chair, lowering your head into your shaky hands and taking an equally unstable breath.
"you say you don't know what to do– you keep saying you regret what happened, but you never tell me why!" you briefly lift your head to cry out at him, and he just about sees the wetness on your cheeks before it's hidden behind your fingers again.
he takes one large stride to be standing in front of you again. "i was trying to help! havin' any kind of phobia will get you killed in this line of work. i was trying to help you because…" he speaks with a similarly desperate tone, his hands floating uselessly in the space between you. "be–because i care about you."
"well you could've fooled me." you sniffle, lowering your hands slightly, your gaze staying locked to the floor. "why didn't you just say that to begin with? why bother with the tough guy act?"
"it's not that simple…" he mutters, frozen in place, afraid that one wrong move would send you bolting like a cornered animal.
"why?" you cry, tilting your head up to catch his eyes with your own reddened ones, "what are you so afraid of?!"
simons heart beats out of his chest, the rhythm so aggressive he was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest.
"i'm in love with you!" he blurts, the tremor in his hands increasingly obvious as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. "...that's what i'm afraid of." his voice is little more than a whisper now, the silence following his declaration only serving to hurt his heart further.
when he peeks back down at you, there's a look of pure shock on your face. your mouth is agape, your eyes flickering between both of his, and simon feels as though you're staring straight into the abyss of his soul.
"and i am sorry, i'm so fuckin' sorry, for everything– all the shit i gave you when you first started, for never givin' you a chance, for screamin’ at you," he continues, his own voice subtly cracking, "i– i'm so… in love with you, and it fucking terrifies me..."
he wanted to touch you, so badly, and with the sheer amount of raw emotion racing through his veins, he can't find it in himself to resist the urge.
simon sinks to his knees in front of you, his fingers grasping your wrists in a featherlight touch and pulling them away from your face with a gentleness he wasn't sure he possessed.
"i– i could've lost you. you could've died and then i'd have to live without you, and i can't do that…" for the first time in a long time, simon feels the sting of tears in his eyes as he caresses the pulse on your wrists with his thumbs, "i'm sorry…"
"simon…" the way you utter him name sends his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. you'd never called him anything other than ghost or lieutenant before now; he never thought he could enjoy hearing simply his name this much.
"i'm so fuckin' sorry, i'll never treat you like that again, i swear." his voice is weak. he presses his forehead to your fingertips to hide the anguish in his eyes. "i'm sorry, i love you, just… just let me down easy, yeah?"
there's another pause, yours and simon's ragged breaths the only sound disturbing the silence.
"why would i let you down?” you whisper from above him. the words send a jolt of shock through him, the implication halting his breathing for a moment as he processes what you mean.
"don’t say that…" he mutters, squeezing your wrists ever so slightly tighter, not quite ready to let go of you yet.
"i'm in love with you, too."
his head snaps up to meet your eyes. "no, you– " he sputters, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth despite the mask still hiding his terrified expression "you can't… you deserve so much better…"
"i don't care what you think i deserve," you wear a tiny smile as you pull his hand away, your tender hold on his wrist mirroring his own on yours.
"i’m– i’m not good for you." he feels the tears building up again, blurring his vision.
"shouldn’t that be for me to decide?"
simon can hardly believe what's happening, when you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing his face through the fabric. he still doesn't let go of your wrist.
"i don't… you– i can't–" his tongue can't seem to form the words as he gazes up into your eyes, the kindness and warmth there overwhelming his senses. "i can't be what you want."
"you already are what i want." you sink to the floor as well, lifting your other hand to cup his face with a blinding smile. "i love you, simon."
for a moment, all he can do is revel in the warmth that bleeds through the fabric of his mask from your hands, pushing his face more into your touch like an affectionate cat.
a desperate noise escapes the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. "...say it again?" he whispers the plea.
he feels your lips on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes snap back open at the sensation. "i love you, simon. more than anything." you murmur, shuffling closer when you kneel between his legs and pressing your forehead to his.
simon thinks he could die happy in this moment. to think, all the pain of the last couple of weeks – the last year, really – had all amounted to this, and can't help but think about what and idiot he'd been up until this point; to have waited this long to feel your touch, it was almost unthinkable.
he sighs, his breathing still evening out. "i'm so sorry…" he whispers. he goes to snake one arm around your waist, but hesitates just before touching you. as of sensing his dilemma, you give him a pleasant hum, wordlessly giving him permission to place his hand firmly on your back. he brings you that much closer with it, the feeling of holding someone a novelty to him.
"i'll forgive you, on two conditions." you reply. simon can sense the smile in your voice even with his eyes closed.
"anything."
"one, we talk to each other from now on, properly." you begin, and simon nods as adequately as he can with your forehead still against his. "second, you have to go on a date with me– to atone."
at that he opens his eyes, pulling back slightly and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "not sure that counts as a punishment, love."
you chuckle, meeting his sceptical gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "it is, because you're cooking."
he chuckles, deep and rumbling in his chest, and drops his forehead gently back to yours, allowing his eyes to flutter closed again.
he'd cook for you for the rest of his life if you asked, if it meant he could stay like this, with you.
note: special thanks to @panicflower for inspiring me with this chapter! i was honestly a lil stuck but their suggestion helped me come up with a direction( ˘ ³˘) hope everyone enjoys!
pairing: ghost x gn!reader
wc: 3.4k
no use of y/n
reader's callsign is 'stingray'
summary: simon wants to make it up to you, but he has no idea where to begin. when you start getting close to someone else, he knows he has to fix things before it's too late.
warnings: still ghost's pov, mentions of injury, jealousy reader gives ghost the cold shoulder this time, ghost is just a lil bit pathetic and very emotionally constipated
ao3
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simon found you in the infirmary.
he knew you hated hospitals; you tried to hide how they made your skin crawl, but he would always notice the way you'd fidget uncomfortably whenever you needed patching up after a mission. even though you more than likely didn't want to see him, his selfish heart still held out hope that he could bring you some comfort.
you're sitting on the edge of a bed, checking the bandage around your forearm when he pushes through the doors. he subtly brushes the dirt from his clothes with his free hand as he takes a step forward, the other holding the hastily collected gift behind his back. but as he cautiously approaches, his breath catches in his throat when he notices the third presence taking up the space next to you.
another sergeant, from the unit the one-four-one is working with for their current assignment. his face is familiar, but simon’s never bothered to learn his name. up until this moment, he was completely irrelevant; but now this nameless bastard was sitting beside you in the space that should he his, and he’s never wanted to punch an ally more than he does right now.
he stops in front of you, and when you lift your head to meet his eyes the pure exhaustion there sends a twinge of pain through his heart. when your friend looks up as well, he feels a surge of annoyance that he’s even here – simon came in with the intention of explaining himself to you, but with someone else lingering around you, he’s afraid he won’t be able to gather the courage.
the humiliation of giving you the makeshift gift he's still got hidden behind his back in front of this stranger would be far too much.
"we need to talk." his voice is harder than he would like, but the other set of eyes on him puts him on edge. he goes to take a small step closer to you, but he freezes when you hold up your uninjured hand to stop him.
"don't," you reply, tearing your red-rimmed eyes away from him as you push yourself to stand up. your shoulders sag and you cradle your bandaged arm close to your abdomen. "i'm tired, ghost."
he grimaces under his mask, watching helplessly as you take your jacket from the waiting hands of your companion – who stands up too, placing his hand on your shoulder with a small smile directed at you that makes simon want to strangle him.
then the idiot turns to him, and regards him with a similar polite smile. "i'm sure it can wait 'till tomorrow, sir." he says, gesturing for you to move with him as he takes a step around simon.
he doesn't bother to acknowledge the sergeant though, keeping his gaze focused solely on you.
"i know, i just–" he begins, raising his free arm to block your path – and perhaps separate you from the outsider – but the way you flinch away from him ever so slightly has his heart breaking all over again. "what i said was uncalled for."
you sigh deeply and drop your gaze to the floor. "then why did you say it?" your frustration is obvious, but he can't come up with a response in time. you click your tongue, before continuing, "i don't wanna do this right now."
"c'mon, man," the spare interjects, pushing his arm down and out of your way. simon finally meets his eyes then, glaring at him with such intensity from behind the balaclava he can see how thickly he swallows. "uh– sir." he corrects, quickly retracting his hand from simon's arm and retreating his gaze to you.
simon resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead turning them back to you as well. "sting." he mumbles, a weak plea for you to listen, but you offer no reaction.
your eyes dart to him and away again as you brush past him with a stone cold expression on your face. he would've believed it, had it not been for the tremble in your lower lip that gave away what you really felt.
for a moment he says frozen in place, watching your back as you exit the infirmary with your irritating companion. he didn't know what to do, now you were the one running away from him. is this how you always felt around him?
before the infirmary door can swing shut he follows you both out into the hallway, keeping pace with you but not daring to walk beside you. the minimal distance between you and the sergeant has his blood boiling, but he restrains his annoyance for your sake. he hears you sigh as his heavy footsteps fall behind your own, but you refuse to give him any more of your attention.
it's pathetic, he thinks to himself, the way he's following you around like a lost puppy, but he can't bring himself to be ashamed. he wants your attention, and he'll do anything to get it.
when you get out into the cold night air, instead of heading towards the main gate like he expected you to, you take a right after the sergeant, towards the car park. his gets a heavy feeling in his stomach, but he follows anyway. your car was still parked outside his house, unmoved since you'd left.
he still follows as you make your way towards one of the few cars left in the space. you say something to the sergeant, too low for simon to hear, and he nods before going ahead to his car.
"ghost," your tone is unimpressed as you turn around to him, arms crossed over your chest. "what are you doing?"
he blinks. "we're goin' the same way." he mutters, his hand squeezing the fist wrapped tightly around his gift that was still hidden behind his back.
"anderson's giving me a lift." you reply flatly.
"oh." his stomach sinks unbearably. he had naively hoped that you'd walk with him, and he'd finally get the chance to talk to you. "...right."
"...right."
you take a step back, going to walk away again, but before you can move he calls out to you. "sting."
you stop and look at him, brows raised expectantly.
in one of his gloved hands, he holds out a handful of delicate white flowers to you. you look at them, and then back up to him with a surprised blink.
"...are those from the flowerbeds out front?" you ask, fixing him with a sceptical expression. he shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other under your scrutiny.
"yeah." he murmurs, "you said you liked 'em."
he hoped you wouldn't comment on the fact that you'd said that during your first week on the taskforce. a moment of tension passes before you gently take the flowers from his hand.
"i did." you say, brushing your fingers over the slightly squashed petals. simon breaths a silent sigh of relief that you didn't outright reject his gesture.
you don't say anything more, leaving the two of you in another uncomfortable pause, but once again, he can't think of anything to say quickly enough. so with another low sigh, you turn on your heel and close the short distance between you and anderson's car.
his arm twitches, a restrained attempt to reach out for you, to ask you to stay, but the door slams shut without you sparing another glance in his direction.
simon can only watch as the taillights disappear into the night, taking you along with them and out of his reach, and leaving him alone in the desolate car park.
"fuuuuck." he growls, tightly pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. why would you want to get into the car of someone you've only known for a few days? even if you were angry with him, you couldn't trust anderson more than your own lieutenant. his hands curl into fists at his sides at the thought that you might actually prefer that prick over him.
with nothing left to do, he begins the lonely walk home. it always manages to catch him off guard, how much colder the world seemed to be when you weren't around.
by the time he’s inside and locked the door behind him, the lights are all off and the door to your room is firmly shut. he considers knocking, but out of fear of disturbing you he decides against it – he’d bothered you enough for one day.
as he lays in bed and retreats into his usual fantasy of you, like he’s done countless times before, there's something different plaguing his mind. your smile, something usually so comforting to him, is directed to someone else.
a striking pain blooms in his chest, spreading to his limbs and his head until his whole body aches with the feeling of you, smiling warmly and holding the hand of someone other than him; he focuses his mind, concentrating on the faceless silhouette until the shadows morph into features he recognises.
anderson.
✹✹✹
he doesn't see you the next morning. you're gone by the time he wakes up, along with your car. it's surprising that he didn't hear you leave; usually he wakes at smallest of sounds, but you seemed to have the unique ability to sneak up on him.
going through his morning routine felt more like a chore than it ever had before, especially the trek back to base with only the silence of the early morning to keep him company. not even the birds sing for him today.
when he finally trudges into the rec room almost forty minutes after leaving home, he finds gaz and soap sitting on the old sofas, playing some card game on the coffee table. he considers turning back around and hiding in his office all day, but he’s spotted before he can escape.
"rise 'n shine, l.t." soap calls, "c'mon, i'll deal ya in."
with a poorly disguised roll of his eyes, he drags his feet over to where they're sitting and drops his weight onto the armchair. he doesn't even know what game they're playing when he's given a hand, but his mind is elsewhere anyway.
"you alright, mate?" gaz's question snaps him out of his daze, but he doesn't get to reply before the door is thrown open and a fourth presence enters the room.
"morning!" anderson's overly enthusiastic voice bounces off the walls of the rec room. simon's head throbs. "anyone seen stingray?" he approaches them as he asks, crossing the distance with a gait that just feels annoying.
gaz and soap look up from their cards at his question, sharing a quick look between them that goes completely over anderson's head.
"they're on inventory, probably in the storeroom." gaz responds, offering him a polite, downturned smile, before looking back and meeting ghost's deadpan gaze.
at least he wasn't the only one who hated anderson's guts.
"perfect, thanks mate!" anderson grins, about to rush back out the way he came, but ghost speaks up before he can get too far.
"not so fast, sergeant." he growls, dropping his cards onto the coffee table and standing up to his full height. he can see soap and gaz share another look out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze stays locked onto anderson like a predator on its prey.
anderson pauses, slowly turning on his heel to face the lieutenant again as he stalks forward. ghost feels a sense of satisfaction at the way he has to crane his neck upwards to look him in the eye, his massive frame towering over the sergeant in an almost comical way.
"yes, sir?" anderson’s voice is strained as he responds, his shoulders noticeably tighter than a moment ago.
"where's your report from yesterday?" ghost leans just slightly forward, crowding his personal space. he sees anderson's gaze flicker to the others behind him, but he knows they're not about to offer their help.
"uh, i filed it first thing this morning," he answers, rocking backwards on his heels. "why?"
ghost sneers under his mask. "well, our captain needs a copy too."
"but my commander's already left, i can't get it back…" anderson’s brows pull together, confusion evident in his words.
"better get writin' then, hadn't you?" ghost doesn't even try to hide the smugness in his voice this time, take more pleasure in ruining anderson's day than he probably should.
"...yes sir." anderson nods, his gaze dropping to the floor as ghost moves past him. he makes sure to nudge his shoulder as he goes, catching anderson off guard and causing him to stumble slightly.
the three sergeants watch as he disappears through the door, each breathing a sigh of relief once they're sure he's gone. ghost's temper was tough to be on the receiving end of, and his bad mood always seemed to rub off on those around him.
"wow..." anderson grumbles, a bitter look on his face as he approaches the others again. "who pissed in his cornflakes?"
gaz and soap do their best not to acknowledge him, instead going back to their card game as if he wasn't there. unfortunately, anderson either doesn't pick up on it, or he just doesn't care, because he hangs around despite being blatantly ignored.
"reckon he's still in the doghouse with sting?" gaz asks, though the answer is obvious. anderson sits down beside him, much to gaz's chagrin, but he takes no notice of his questioning gaze.
"och, no doubt about that." soap huffs.
"so they're together?" anderson asks, tilting his head slightly with a frown. "i was gonna make a move, but i know they live together, so…"
gaz meets his eyes with a frown of his own. "well…" he looks at soap from the corner of his eye, who has a similar deer-in-headlights expression. "...not necessarily,"
"it's… complicated." soap adds, trying to hide the panic on his face with a begrudging smile that ends up more like a grimace.
"oh, so stingray's available, is what i'm hearing." he punctuated his words with an irritating wiggle of his eyebrows.
gaz and soap share another wide-eyed look.
"i don't know if–"
"now hold on–"
anderson pays their protests no mind however, hurrying to the door with a call of, "sorry lads, cant hang about!" as he leaves.
as soon as the door swings shut behind him, soap lets out a frustrated groan. "good goin' mate…" he grumbles, turning to gaz with a raised brow.
"...don't tell ghost," gaz mutters with a regretful expression decorating his face.
✹✹✹
true to gaz's word, when simon slips through the door to the storeroom you're there, clipboard in hand and quietly going through the stock.
you haven't noticed him yet, so he takes a moment to simply observe you as you work. although in reality it's only been a few days, it could've been weeks since he last saw you and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. time moved so slow while you were gone it felt like it was dragging specifically to punish him.
it's only as he stands there watching you that he realises he has no idea what he's actually going to say to you, but it was too late to back out now; he was here, and he wasn't sure when he'd next get a moment alone with you, he had to try.
"sting–"
"shit!"
you jump, your clipboard slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor. your hand presses over your heart as you whip around to face him.
"don't fucking do that, you scared the shit out of me." you shoot him a glare and reach down to pick up your clipboard while simon can only stand there like an idiot, his mind desperately racing to come up with something to say.
"i, uh– just wanted to talk." he mutters, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. you sigh lightly and look down to the documents you'd been writing.
"okay, go on then." you gesture for him to speak, and turn back around to the shelves to carry on with your duties.
"well– i.. i shouldn't've said what i said," he begins, following after you as you move along the shelves and continue to write. the way you disregard his presence throws him off – he was so used to having your undivided attention it was strange to lose it.
"we've established that."
"and i regret it," he continues, getting closer again, but you still don't look at him. his voice is significantly weaker than when he began, your ice cold demeanour effecting what little confidence had had going into this. "i just… i don't know what to do."
at that, you lower your clipboard and gaze pointedly into the space in front of you, lips pursed with obvious anger. when you finally face him, the incredulous look on your face has him regretting having said anything, despite not understanding where your fury came from.
"you don't know what to do?" you laugh, but it's dry and humourless. "that's priceless, lieutenant, honestly."
"why? just–"
he's interrupted for the second time that morning by the door opening to reveal anderson, that infuriating grin plastered onto his face.
"you in here, sting?" he calls, eyes scanning the room before landing on the two of you near the back wall. "oh. lieutenant ghost…" the grin falls from his face and the way he stands up a little straighter doesn’t go unnoticed.
simon quietly groans to himself, pouring every ounce of malice he has into the way he glowers at the sergeant. he was so tempted to punch this prick it took an unbelievable amount of restraint not to.
"thought i told you to write that report." he seethes, turning his body to face anderson while simultaneously putting himself between you and him.
"well, i'm getting to it, but–"
"no buts, sergeant." he interrupts, voice dangerously low. "i gave you an order; do it."
"sir, i really don't think it's necess–"
"maybe you'd like to tell captain price why he can't sign off on the debrief?" his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it, and he's sure his fingernails would've drawn blood had he not been wearing gloves.
"...no, sir." anderson mutters, his demeanour something akin to a scolded child.
"then you'd better fuck off, hadn't you?" ghost spits, gesturing sharply with one hand towards the door.
"y-yes sir…" anderson stutters, backing out of the doorway with a quick, concerned look to you over ghost's shoulder before he disappears around the corner.
now that it's just the two of you, simon turns back to you with a much softer look in his eyes, only to be met with a glare from you that rivals one of his own.
"don't be such a dickhead." you hiss, turning sharply away from him again and going back to writing on your clipboard.
simon scoffs. "you're seriously gonna defend that bellend?" he asks, throwing his hands out to the sides and leaning to catch your eye again.
"you don't even know him." you turn more away from him to avoid his searching gaze, your writing getting steadily more aggressive the more he tries to capture your attention.
"i know enough to know that he's–"
"just stop!" you shout, finally turning to face him with a venomous glare. the tension between you is palpable, it makes his skin crawl, but he doesn't dare move. "i don't wanna hear it! if all you're gonna do is bitch about my friends, then you can leave."
simon's breath falters when you turn your back on him again, dragging a heavy hand over your face as you do. "wait– that's not–"
"just piss off, ghost!" you cry, "please!"
your plea rings through the empty room, echoing in simon's ribcage and embedding itself like a thorn in his heart. he can't see your face, for which he's actually grateful; if he saw you cry again he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it.
he waits in silence for you to say something, anything more, but you refuse to look at him, shoulders hunched and clipboard held so tightly it was at risk of snapping.
without another word, he drags his feet over to the door, looking back over his shoulder to you as he pauses in the threshold. you’re still standing exactly where he left you, back turned and completely unmoving save for the uneven rise and fall of your shoulders.
"i'll… see you at home, yeah?" he mutters, his small tone not at all befitting of a soldier as imposing as him.
what if i said price x reader firewatch au. (psst here it is)
you talk to each other over the radio every day, but you've never seen his face and he's never seen yours. he watches you from his tower as you go about your day, admiring the silhouette of your form in the golden light of the afternoon.
people only take this job if they're running from something, he tells you – including him.
he tells you stories from his time in the military, and insists that you tell him stories about your life as a civilian, despite how much you argue that its all boring in comparison to him. he never agrees. it's not boring to him. you could never be boring.
and then, inevitably, there's a forest fire, and you can do nothing but watch with john the smoke grow closer day after day. the wind takes an unexpected turn and suddenly you don't have an escape route anymore. the only option to save yourself is to hike up to john's tower, and evacuate from there.
he waits for you, because of course he does. despite all the times you tell him to think about himself, to get to safety, that the helicopter will come back for you, but he never listens.
when you finally reach the peak, covered in sweat and soot and smelling of smoke, he's there, waiting, just like he said he would. neither of you say a word as he drags you into his arms, dirtying his own clothes in the process but he can't bring himself to care.
he's waited months to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice untainted by the disturbance of the radio. now he has you, he fully intends on keeping it that way.
both of you took this job to run away from something and, by some string of fate, ended up running straight into each other's arms. do you see my vision.
note: i had to rewrite this chapter TWICE. im sick of it so pls enjoy. also forgot to mention on here that I have been away this week on a little holiday. didn't stop me writing tho lol.
pairing: ghost x gn!reader
wc: 2.3k
no use of y/n
readers callsign is 'stingray'
summary: while you're gone on a mission, ghost has time to ponder your relationship, and comes to a long awaited realisation
warnings: ghost's pov, mentions of blood and injury, lil bit of angst
ao3
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ghost never knew how to feel about you.
at first, he really did hate you; you were the bright-eyed new recruit with seemingly endless optimism, he simply couldn't help but be annoyed by you. honestly, he half expected you to tap out a week into the job. you were just so… normal, he found it hard to believe you were cut out for this line of work.
of course, he trusted price's decision to hire you, and deep down ghost knew he wouldn't have recruited you if he didn't think you could handle it, but he looked down on you anyway. it didn't matter how good price thought you were, you'd have to earn ghost's respect.
it was infuriating, the way you fit so easily into the dynamic of the team. they all liked you right off the bat, even the captain, who was notoriously hard to impress. he observed you from afar, watching how you easily broke down their walls and fell into place next to them like it was nothing.
if he was honest with himself, he might have even called it jealousy. it seemed that everything was so natural to you; everything that he struggled with, you did with such ease you made it look like child's play. he especially hated the way you could just be a person. you didn't lock up every time someone spoke to you, you didn't need to sit with a visual on every available exit, and you didn't need to analyse every person you met in the fear that the second you turn your back they'll stab you in it.
you pissed him off, but what was worse than anything else about you, is that ghost had to fight with himself not to like you too.
it was the first time he got sent on an assignment with you that he began to understand why everyone seemed to get along with you so well. the ruthless efficiency with which you did your job was almost shocking to see. he couldn't have predicted how well the two of you worked together; like a well oiled machine, by the end of the mission he didn't even need to communicate verbally, you could just tell what his next move would be.
he finally understood why price fought so hard to get you on the one-four-one – and he finally found it in himself to respect you.
but that didn't change the way he felt about you beyond the field. you were soft, too kind, and too optimistic, you weren't hardened by the job like him. so he went out of his way to be tougher on you than he was with the others, and he rationalised it by telling himself he was helping you; that without a little toughening up, this world would break you, and for some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of that.
when you started to resent him back, it made his stomach feel heavy in a way he'd never felt before. it was new, and uncomfortable, and it scared him. he wasn't sure when he first noticed it, but it only got worse when he came to the realisation that you didn't care for him like you did for gaz and soap.
you could joke around so easily with them, but you go quiet when he enters the room. you never meet his eyes, and make sure to never be physical with him. when he addresses you over comms, you answer with a quick 'yes sir' and that's the end of it. ghost would never admit it, but the distance between you hurt – even if it was by design.
as he lay awake that night, he thought about what it would be like if you treated him the same way you treated the others. he couldn't stop the tiny smile that pulled at his lips as he imagined laughing with you, sitting next to you, touching you.
he imagined you, taking his calloused hand into your own, so gentle and kind like you always were, and the way his pulse skyrocketed scared him into staying up the rest of the night.
after that, the way he saw you changed. where he used to think you were soft – and therefore weak – instead he saw the way you chose to be kind. when once your constant jokes with the others was an inability to take things seriously, now it was your specialty way to keep up morale, and ghost actually found himself chuckling at a few of your quips.
it was like his entire perspective had shifted, everything about you that used to annoy him gradually became something he appreciated about you.
it took him a while, but he finally came to the conclusion that he… liked you.
but it was bittersweet, because he already knew you didn't want him, and he doubted you ever would. you'd never see him in the same light, he'd ruined his chances before he even knew he wanted one.
maybe it was for the best, though. you deserved better, someone who would treat you right, someone normal. he already knew you didn't want him, and he could never blame you for that. people like you don't fall in love with people like him, that's just the way it is.
so he resigns himself to burying the feelings he harbours for you. you never had to find out, if you did you'd surely be disgusted by someone like him being interested in you. he couldn't handle rejection like that, not from you.
when price told him he'd have to take you in when your house burned down, he was fucking terrified. it shook him to his core, how much he liked the idea of the two of you living under the same roof. he did his best to avoid you, leave you in peace like he assumed you wanted; but you – wonderful, kind you – wouldn't just leave him to his misery.
you were being nice to him, and he couldn't figure out why. he assumed it was because he was doing you a favour by letting you stay with him; he couldn't even trick himself into believing that you might be doing it because you liked him.
every night, he'd go back to that fantasy of existing with you, by your side instead of at arm's length. you were so close, just a single door separating you, his hands started sweating every time he passed by the living room.
he knew he was a goner the morning you woke up before him. he'd scarcely ever seen you in a casual setting, but walking into the kitchen and being greeted by you sitting at the table, the domesticity of it all hit him like a bullet to the chest.
it was exactly what he wanted, and it scared the shit out of him, so he panicked. he needed to stay away from you, for your own good, so he did what the ghost does best.
he ran away.
he didn't even consider what you'd think, he just had to get away, before he said something he'd end up regretting.
when you came through the door, soaking wet, and laid into him – which he knew he deserved – he immediately regretted leaving you behind. seeing you cry, knowing it was because of him, it made him feel sick. he knew he never wanted you to feel that heartache again, especially if it was because of him.
he'd give anything to start again with you, go back to the beginning and do it all right this time, but the only thing he could do was try and make up for what he'd put you through.
the hot chocolate was a peace offering; he knew you loved it – he even knew about the stash you had of it hidden in price's office, away from the other soldiers. he half expected you to just tell him to piss off, but when you accepted it, he felt his heart soar.
it ignited a spark of hope within him. more than anything, he just wanted you to like him, it didn't matter if you never saw him the way he wanted you to.
he intended on waking you up the next evening, before he left for the pub, but when he saw how peaceful you looked while you slept, he couldn't bring himself to disturb you.
you stayed with gaz and soap most of the night, and he spent the night watching you from the bar and dimly lit corners, assuring himself that you were okay. when it came time to drag you home with him, he had never been so nervous. taking care of people was the exact opposite of his strong suit, especially when they started crying at him.
he almost couldn't believe his ears when you said you liked him.
he'd dragged you home with an arm wrapped around your waist, his head feeling light as a feather. by all accounts, he should've been annoyed at having to look after you in your inebriated state, but he found himself smiling under his mask the whole way home – even when you almost threw up on him.
when you rested your head on his shoulder on the bathroom floor, he might've actually short-circuited. all thoughts except for you evacuated his mind, and a wonderfully warm feeling blossomed in his chest that made his stomach flutter like never before.
he came so close to spilling his guts to you, but then he remembered that you were drunk, and you most likely wouldn't remember it if he did. so he resigned himself to tucking you into bed with an uncharacteristically gentle touch.
the next day, sitting on that park bench with you, laughing with you like he'd wanted to for so long – it was everything to him. it sent his pulse through the roof, it was complicated, and it was so pleasantly warm.
the logical part of him knew that this would only end painfully for him, but found himself willing to risk that if it meant more of these moments with you.
but of course, he'd fucked it all up at the first opportunity. he'd screamed in your face and he had yet to even apologise for it – for any of it. he felt immeasurably guilty, but he was so scared he couldn't even force himself to be around you.
even price had yelled at him for how he'd treated you. you were traumatised, you had a very real phobia as a result of the house fire, and he felt like a fucking fool for not noticing. he swore to himself he'd make it up to you, he'd grovel at your feet for the rest of his life if he had to, and if you never forgave him he still wouldn't blame you.
he regretted it – of course he did. he let his fear consume him; the fear of you getting hurt, of losing you, and not being able to do anything to save you.
almost as soon as the words had passed his lips, he realised what he was doing, he heard himself. the anger in his voice, the fearful look in your eyes as they glistened with tears, it was everything he didn't want to be.
he felt just like his–
no. he refused to even entertain that thought. he'd never be… that. you deserved so, so much better than the broken husk of man that he was. no matter what he did, he would never deserve you; and it was selfish, but he still hoped that you could somehow forgive him.
it's only been a few days since you left on that assignment for laswell, but he's found that being alone in his house didn't bring him the same comfort it used to. the silence never bothered him before, in fact he greatly preferred it, but now it just felt empty. like there was something missing, leaving a hole in the space it used to occupy.
deep down, the rational part of simon knows that it's you, of course it is, but you wanted nothing to do with him right now. he knew he had to fix things, he would never get over the hollow feeling in his chest if he didn't. that's why he was currently standing at the edge of the runway in the middle of the night, watching the ramp of the helo lower to reveal you, gaz, and the captain.
you looked shattered, like you hadn't slept for days – which was probably true – and he was suddenly overcome with the urge to gather you into his arms and not let go. he wondered if the remnants of dried blood that were visible on your hands and face were yours.
he felt his heart rate pick up as you made your way closer to him, his icy stare softening when he sees how you drag your feet across the tarmac.
when you were close enough, he reached his hand out to grasp your arm, opening his mouth to speak, but he never makes contact.
you sidestep him, and he feels his heart break in his chest. any words he was planning on saying die on his tongue as he turns to watch you slip through the doors without a hint of acknowledgement to him.
price gives him a rough pat on the shoulder as he and gaz pass by. "fix it, simon." he murmurs, before disappearing through the doors as well, leaving him alone outside the building.
he will fix it – he'd do whatever it takes because simon doesn't just need you, he's come to the alarming conclusion that he loves you – he just has no idea how.
