Reader who gets pregnant off of a one night stand with some soldier during armed forces day, showing your appreciation for his service a little too well.
You had a support system, friends who joked about you having way too much fun, hence your predicament, others already offering to buy things for the baby and your parents who couldn't be happier to meet their grandchild.
But what about the father?
Well, it's not exactly like you could track him down. Fuck, you didn't even know the man's name, only how he made you feel, his filthy words strumming in your ear, big hands tight around your waist, hips slamming away in a desperate chase.
Let's forget how you leg-locked him.
When your daughter was born, everything changed, and time slowed down. She was a quiet baby, barely crying or having any outbursts like a normal child would but outspoken in her own little way. That chunky thing came out of the womb with a glare. Brown eyes staring down anyone and everyone but you.
That's something she definitely got from her father. You vividly remember how his umber eyes watching you from across the bar. He was like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. A perfect soldier.
So, you named your daughter Adira in memory of his strength. That's one thing he could have.
Adira loved to be by your side. Her chubby cheeks pressed into the nook of your neck, holding you close with strength of a thousand babies. Your clingy little thing was a koala, always by her mommy's side, never straying far no matter how curious she got. When she learned to walk, her favorite thing became to hug your leg, especially while in stores. She hated people, wearing a tiny scowl whenever customers passed by tucking herself closer to you.
Maybe it was a good thing her father wasn't around. Having to compete for her first words would've been a bloodbath.
You spent two years in bliss. The fact that you were a single mother an afterthought to raising what you considered a blessing.
With Adira's second Christmas coming up, you wanted to do something special. She loved trains and found them absolutely amusing, often mimicking the honk as she ran around your apartment. Thankfully, there was a train ride for kids around the park during this time of year.
Here, you stood in line, bundled up to the nines. Big poofy coat, warm gloves, and fuzzy boots. As the crowd moved, Adira clung close, arms wrapped around your leg, glowering at any passerby with an annoyed look on her rosy cheeks.
That one was new. Maybe something else she got from her father.
The two of you took steps in tow, keeping Adira close and comfortable as the train came into view. Her expression shifted, excitement palpable. "Twain!" She squealed, jumping up and down.
Before you could respond to Adira's childlike joy, a man bumped into you by accident, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He turns to look at you, blue eyes meeting yours, but you were too focused on the weird ass Mohawk on his head.
People wore still those?
"Sorry bout that lass." The man starts to apologize, a Scottish accent lacing his voice.
That breaks your stare, laughing awkwardly to mask your wandering gaze. "Oh no, it's fine. You should be careful. you might slip on ice."
He nods, giving you a kind smile. The Scottish man starts to leave, but the look your kid was giving him sent shivers down his spine.
Little Adira was giving him a fierce stare down from behind your leg before ultimately cutting her eyes at him as if he were merely a nuisance.
"Next in line! Mctavish!"
The man doesn't stay after that. You assume that it was him they were calling with the way he hurried off. Hope he doesn't fall, seemed like a nice guy.
Soap can't help but do a double take when be gets to the front. The little rascal was wearing his Lieutenants face, hawk eyeing anyone who dared got to close. It was like looking in a mirror.
He nudged Gaz, making a gesture to look back without making it obvious. "See the lass and her bairn in line?"
Gaz gives him a raised brow, looking back for a second before turning around. "There's a lot of kids with their mother's, Johnny."
Soap glances back, double checking to make sure you were still in line. “The lass with the wee one—she’s got the same wicked look as Lt. You cannae miss her.”
Gaz rolls his eyes but humors Soap by looking once more, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on a little girl already mean-mugging him from a distance. He swiftly turns around, blinking in surprise, trying to comprehend what he saw. "Uh..."
Soap only nods in agreement. That was Ghost's face, on a kid no less. He wastes no time, elbowing Roach and getting him to look back as well, leaving the other Sergeant in the same shock as Gaz. "That is not a face a kid should have."
"Agreed." Gaz added, shuddering at the thought.
"Where's the cap?" Soap asks, the train ride no longer feeling like fun now that he’s discovered the jackpot.
"Market place with Lt. for cigs," Gaz knowingly remarked, remembering that Price had run out on their way here.
"Well, let's go show them a Christmas miracle," Soap shot up from his seat all too eagerly.
His question hit like a punch, and the pressure of it lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. Armed Forces Day? Three years ago? A sharp jolt of recognition hit you, though the details of that night remained fuzzy. The memories were there, but they felt distant—like something you hadn't allowed yourself to fully remember after becoming a mother.
You steadied yourself, trying to mask the unease rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?” you tried to sound steady but the tightening grip on your purse betrayed the rush of nerves running through you.
Simon shifted, his broad frame nearly eclipsing the dim light of the bar. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle in his own head, as though each word carried a burden too heavy to bear. “There was a night,” he began, his tone low and rough, every syllable deliberate. “Here. Three years ago. You were here. So was I.”
Your heart skipped, a wave of realization hitting with an almost physical force. The hazy recollections of that night flooded back, slowly accumulating together—laughter, drinks, an unexpected connection. Something that hadn’t felt planned but had burned far too bright to ignore.
The knot in your stomach twisted painfully, every part of you urging you to push it away, but the truth had already begun to sink in. “You’re…” The words stalled in your throat, heavy and lodged, the sentence unfinished as the reality stung like an accusation between you.
Simon exhaled sharply, part sigh, part laugh—but there was no humor in it. His gaze locked onto yours with unsettling intensity, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting for you to break. “Yeah,” he replied simply, the word thick with certainty. “And she’s mine, isn’t she?”
A cold shiver ran down your spine, your body instinctively stiffening. The truth strung in the silence between you both, too glaring to avoid. Heart racing, every sense screamed to deny it, to distance yourself from this conversation before it spiraled out of control. But anything that could be said felt wrong, heavy on your tongue as you forced them out: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Simon’s eyes held yours, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—a desperation that cut through his usually composed demeanor. “Please,” he urged, the plea more potent. “Just tell me.”
How could this be happening? How could something so raw, so unspoken, suddenly spill into the air between the two of you? The weight of the moment anchored you, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a way to move past it.
“She is,” you muttered at last, the confession slipping out like an unwanted secret. Fingers clenched tightly against the table’s edge, grounding yourself against the suffocating reality pressing in. “I never thought… never thought you'd come back into the picture.”
A brief silence stretched out before you spoke again, everything tumbling out in a rush. "I didn’t even know your name. All I recall was you kept making me." The admission hung in the air, lighter than it was, an attempt to lighten everything you didn’t want to say.
The memory refused to stay buried. His face from that night, the intensity of his stare under the bar’s muted glow, how his presence seemed magnetic and overwhelming all at once—it all surfaced, unbidden. The connection had been undeniable, but that was your secret to carry. He didn’t need to know the details you still clung to..
“I don’t even know how it happened,” The sentence barely made it past your lips. “We used protection.” Doubt crept into your mind, unraveling the careful narrative you’d built for yourself. Did we? The past, fogged by alcohol and blurred moments, refused to come into focus.
Simon blinked, the blankness in his expression giving way to confusion, then disbelief. “Did we?” he asked with an edge of uncertainty. He was searching for answers neither of you seemed able to provide. Silence filled the space between you, heavy with unspoken questions.
"That parts a bit fuzzy," you admitted quietly, thoughts drifting away, the edges of the remembrance blurring with every passing second. “And clearly we didn't given our current situation.”
Meeting his gaze, you knew this was the man from that fortunate night. Only different. More mature as if life hadn’t been kind to him. “All I know is… I woke up, and it was just me.” The recollection hung heavier than expected, twisting in your chest. "I never imagined I’d run into you again."
A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the gravity of everything left unsaid pressing down on the air. Neither of you knew how to move forward, or even if moving forward was possible.
“I knew she was mine,” Simon muttered, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, fighting against his own emotions threatening to break free.
You blinked in disbelief, the reality of his revelation settling in like ice in your veins. “You saw her?” The shock was evident. The idea that he had been so close—watching, perhaps even knowing—yet remained silent was almost too much to process.
Simon nodded, his gaze never meeting yours as he began. “Last month. When you were leaving the café with her. Johnny stopped you, and I was there.” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if the bulk of it all was pressing on him. “Johnny and the lads, they were the first to say they saw a little girl with my face. I was skeptical at first But then… then I saw the two of you together. And I saw it. Saw me in her. I had no idea she was even a possibility. Or that you were, for that matter."
Your breath hitched, a sharp sting rising in your chest. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, the hurt, and the confusion all collided in one sudden wave. “Why didn’t you say anything?” The question shot out before you could stop it, the accusation sharp and loaded with all the frustration. He had been so close. Watching. Why didn’t he speak up?
Simon paused, his gaze dropping to his hands, fingers flexing as if he were trying to grasp for something he couldn’t hold. The silence stretched long between you, the tension palpable, as if the room itself was holding its breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came.
“I…” He started, staring at his hands as though they might hold the answer. “I’m not good with things like this, love.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time fully expressing how he felt but this moment needed authenticity. “I needed time to figure out if I could step into a life that was already doing fine without me. I was afraid of complicating things, of ruining something that was just fine without me."
You didn’t expect what he said to hit you so hard. The impact of his confession—that he had stayed away because he wasn’t sure if he was fit to be a part of your life, Adira’s life—settled deep within you, heavier than you could have imagined. You’d been fine, hadn’t you? Raising Adira, carving out a life on your own. But there's always been that lingering voice in the back of your mind, that small, quiet thought of “what if?” What if things had been different? What if he had been there from the start? Maybe you wouldn’t have had to quit those overpriced mommy-and-me classes because of those judgmental women who gossiped behind your back. Maybe things would’ve been easier.
“I wasn’t about to just waltz in, love,” Simon’s voice softened, more vulnerable now, like he was carefully weighing his thoughts. “I needed to know if you’d even want me here. You and her…” His gaze darkened for a moment, his voice trailing off as though unable to bear too much out in the open. “I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to step into something already so… perfect.”
In those words, there was something you hadn’t expected to hear from him: honesty. He was afraid. Afraid of being the one to ruin what you had built. Afraid of not being enough for you or for Adira.
“I guess I understand,” you said quietly. "I just wish you showed up sooner."
Simon didn’t answer right away. Something within him flickered with guilt, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. He glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.
"Can I meet her?" Simon asked nervously, a grown man fidgeting in his seat, the weight of his request sinking in.
"Now?" You chuckled, trying to brighten the moment. "It's late. I'm sure she's already asleep."
Simon’s gaze flickered with hesitation, but the desire was clear. He was barely holding it together, as if afraid that the chance to meet his daughter would slip away if he didn’t ask now.
"I understand," he mumbles after a pause, almost to himself, but there was a longing there you couldn’t ignore. "I just…I need to see her. To know her. Even if just for a moment."
The magnitude of the situation pressed down on you again, this wasn’t something you had expected when you woke up this morning. You had no clue what to do with all of this, with him, with Adira’s future—your future. But still, you could hear his sincerity.
"Tomorrow," You decided. "We can meet up tomorrow, but it has to be on her terms. She's not exactly the warmest with new people."
Simon nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "I can wait."
You gave him a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. There was still so much to figure out, but at least now, for the first time, there was a possibility. A chance to rebuild what had been lost. "Bring toys," you suggested sincerely, thinking about what would make her happy. "She likes trains. Doesn’t need to be anything cartoon-ish, just a proper train."
Simon blinked, a touch of confusion in his gaze. "She doesn't like dolls? Like most girls?" His tone had a hint of disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite picture a little girl who wasn’t into the typical, pink frilly things.
The thought of dolls made your stomach tighten, and you shook your head vehemently, as if to expel the very idea. "God, no," you replied, unease creeping into the conversation. "Please, don’t bring dolls. That’s the last thing I want." You shuddered as you spoke, recalling all the unnerving memories. "She gets all Sid from Toy Story with them."
Simon’s brow furrowed even deeper, clearly unsure. "What does that mean?"
You visibly grimaced, the image flashing vividly in your mind. "It means I wake up to doll heads scattered all over the place," you say, your voice low and serious. "And it's... creepy. Like she's planning something with them. It’s like waking up in a horror movie."
Simon chuckled at first, but as he saw the unflinching seriousness in your expression, his laughter quickly turned uncertain. His grin faded, and the unease that filled his eyes told you that he was realizing this wasn’t some joke. "You’re messing with me, right?"
Your stare at him, completely deadpan. "I wish I was."
For a moment, Simon just stared, taking in your unwavering expression. His lips parted, a nervous laugh escaping him as he absorbed warning. "Alright," he said slowly, now understanding your cautious warning. "No dolls. Trains. Got it."
You gave a relieved sigh, feeling the baggage lift off your shoulders. The tension hadn’t fully gone, but for now, at least the toy issue was settled. There were plenty of bigger things to confront later, but this? This was a small victory.
This one is a little shorter than the rest, simply because I want the meet up chapter to be really long for yall! :3
With the train ride now over, the sergeants ran, scouring the market for two familiar faces. Their footsteps in sync, crunching delicate mounds of white snow. Soap broke through the crowd first, then Gaz and Gary were right with him.
“Where the hell are they?” Gaz pants out, his breaths misting in the cold air.
“You said the marketplace,” Soap huffs.
“Yeah, I said the marketplace, but it's not like I know exactly where they went!” Gaz snaps back.
While the two sergeants bicker, Roach quietly breaks away, scanning the area until he spots the familiar figures they’d been hunting for. Price and Ghost stand outside a cigar shop, deep in conversation. The satisfied grin on Price's face tells Roach everything—he got what he was after.
“They’re over there!” Roach exclaims, snapping his partners out of their lovers' quarrel.
Gaz and Soap go silent, their eyes following Roach’s line of sight until they, too, spot their Lieutenant and Captain.
In a heartbeat, the three of them are sprinting toward their unsuspecting targets. Soap grins like a madman, practically buzzing with mischief, while Gaz shakes his head, both amused and slightly wary of what might unfold. Roach, meanwhile, is simply thrilled to be along for the ride.
They skid to a stop right in front of the two men, chests heaving as they catch their breath in the biting winter air.
“The hell is wrong with you lot?” Price’s voice cuts through, laced with a mix of annoyance and bemusement as he shifts his attention from Ghost to the winded sergeants.
Ghost, arms crossed, eyes them with quiet scrutiny. His winter coat does little to conceal his bulky frame, a silent reminder of his imposing presence as he stands beside Price.
Price and Ghost waited for an explanation, knowing well everytime those three got together, they were definitely up to no good.
Like how they put semi-permanent green dye in Ghost's shampoo for Halloween.
“We… we saw. A kid with your face,” Gaz manages, still catching his breath, pointing straight at Ghost.
Ghost raises a brow, baffled. A kid with his face? What the hell did that mean? Did they think he looked like a baby?
Soap huffs in mock disappointment, shooting a playful glare at Gaz. “Oi, I wanted to say it!”
Predictably, the two dive into another back-and-forth. Gaz isn’t one to shout, but Soap has a talent for riling anyone up.
Price lets their little show go on for only a moment before his stern voice cuts in, slicing through their bickering. “One of you properly explain, or you'll be walking back to base.”
Roach steps up, eager to clarify. “There’s a kid, probably about two, and she looks exactly like the Lt. Scowl, glare, and all!”
Price and Ghost pause, their expressions twisting as they both try—and fail—to imagine a little girl with Simon’s permanent scowl.
Price shudders, shaking the thought from his head. “That is not a face a kid should have.”
“That’s exactly what I said,” Gaz chimes in, nodding emphatically.
Ghost throws him an offended look, his usually hardened eyes showing a glimmer of hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing!” they all exclaim in unison, even Price, who quickly averts his gaze as Ghost’s glare narrows on him.
Ghost huffs, then crosses his arms. “Did you take a picture?”
Soap snorts, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Aye, right, 'cause that wouldnae be creepy at all.”
Ghost stares daggers Into Soap, rolling his eyes and pushing himself off the wall. “Okay, then where is she?”
The three stooges lead the charge once again, this time with their Captain and Lieutenant in tow. They weave through the crowd toward the train park, where Soap eagerly scans for the woman and kid he’d spotted earlier. But the line they were in is empty, the pair nowhere to be found.
“Shite. I think they’re gone,” Soap mutters, his Scottish accent thickening in his frustration, the words rolling out with a clipped bite.
“So the imaginary woman and kid don’t actually exist,” Ghost deadpans, unimpressed.
“They exist!” Gaz insists, voice edging on exasperation.
“Sure,” Ghost replies, his tone flat and thoroughly unconvinced.
Roach snickers, then glances over at Price—only to see him staring slack-jawed through the window of a nearby café, his cigar dangling from his mouth, forgotten.
“Cap?” Roach says, touching the older man’s shoulder.
Price doesn’t look away, nodding toward the café. “Found them.”
Everyone turns toward the café, eyes landing on you and Adira. The little girl is happily weaving between your legs, her tiny hands gripping your coat as she entertains herself, all while you order hot chocolates to fend off the winter chill. A soft smile touches your lips as you watch her play, blissfully unaware of the audience gathering just outside.
The barista, with a warm smile, hands over two cups, one with a little extra marshmallows for Adira, her voice bright as she wishes you both a merry Christmas. You take the cups with a grateful nod, handing one to Adira. She immediately takes her drink, sipping eagerly, her small feet bouncing on her heels from the sugar rush.
“Yummy?” You ask, glancing down at her with a soft smile, a wave of motherly pride swelling in your chest as you watch her delight in the simple joy of her drink.
Adira nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she pulls away from her straw with a satisfied sigh. “Yummy.”
With a soft chuckle, you both leave the warmth of the shop, stepping out into the crisp air. Hand in hand, you walk back toward the park, the world around you feeling peaceful despite the cold. As you reach the crosswalk, you stop, waiting for the light to turn. Adira looks up at you, her little face filled with contentment as she swings your joined hands back and forth, her sugary energy still buzzing.
Across the way, the team stood frozen, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before them. Everyone but Ghost was struck by how much Adira looked like him—her features unmistakably mirroring his, save for the color of her hair and skin. The resemblance was uncanny, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped around them.
“She looks nothing like me,” Ghost stated plainly, his voice cutting through the stillness as though it were fact. His expression was unmoving, a wall of stubbornness in his eyes. He was ready to die on that hill.
Then, as fate would have it, a woman walking her dog passed by, and Adira’s cherub-like face hardened into a cold, calculating stare. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
“Nevermind,” Ghost muttered, his earlier conviction faltering as he watched her shift before his eyes.
“So… you’ve been having fun these past years?” Roach asked, his gaze flicking between Adira and Ghost, curiosity getting the better of him.
“Not that I know of,” Ghost grunted, his eyes still locked on you and Adira, a mix of unease and something else flickering across his face. He couldn’t pull himself away.
“Let’s get closer,” Price commanded, already making his move. Soap and Roach exchanged a shrug, falling in line without hesitation.
“Excuse me?” Gaz sputtered, though his body had already begun moving before his brain could catch up, unable to defy the Captain’s order.
Ghost fell silent, teeth gritted. This wasn’t a situation he was used to, especially not one where he was forced to go in blind. He stood stiffly at the crosswalk, trying to hide his glances, his focus split between the team and you.
Soap ended up the closest, standing just next to Adira. The little girl paused, her big, doe-like eyes lifting from her drink to catch sight of him. The recognition was instant. Her lips pursed into a small line, and her gaze grew heavy with annoyance.
“Ugee…” she whispered, scooting closer to you.
Soap froze, his mind stuttering for a moment. Did she just—? Did she call me ugly?
Gaz, standing behind him, couldn’t contain himself. A muffled laugh broke through as Soap turned to look at the others, wide-eyed and speechless, completely taken aback.
“Do ye lot think I'm ugly?” Soap asked, his voice thick with disbelief, clearly thrown off by the little girl's words.
“Not the time, Mctavish,” Price said, a tiny laugh tugging at the corner of his lips despite the situation.
The streetlight flickered green, signaling it was time to move. You adjusted yourself, ready to cross the street. Each member of the team started mentally preparing, unsure of how—or even if—they should approach you. Ghost, however, was the first to make a move, determined to intercept you. But Soap, ever the opportunist, beat him to it.
Ghost wasn’t exactly subtle, and having him try anything would probably send you running in the opposite direction.
“Excuse me, aren’t you the lady from the train?” Soap called out, his voice light, though his intentions were clear.
You paused at his interruption, recognition flickering in your eyes. You remembered the man who bumped into you earlier. “Yes? Is something the matter?”
“Do you happen to know where I could find Leslies?” Soap asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice, though he tried to mask it.
“The pub?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Soap confirmed, his face lighting up with a mix of relief and surprise at your easy response.
You look around for a moment, trying to remember and see the street names of your current location. “Uh…it should be about a couple blocks south from here. They have a big sign, you can't miss it.”
Thank God for Soap, because that one question was all he needed to keep you trapped in a conversation, his charm working its magic as you giggled and chatted away easily, the awkwardness of the situation melting away.
Meanwhile, Ghost’s attention shifted to Adira. He looked down at her, and she, almost instinctively, looked up at him. Their eyes locked in a silent staring contest, each of them studying the other. The intensity in their gaze was undeniable, both sets of eyes reflecting the same quiet, unwavering strength. It was like looking in a mirror—a mirror that mirrored back his own hardened stare and no-nonsense attitude.
Adira was, quite literally, his mini me. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.
“How old are you?” Ghost asked bluntly, his voice low as he kneeled down to Adira’s height, his gaze intense but trying to soften.
Adira paused for a moment, glancing up at you for help, but you were still caught up in conversation with Soap. She turned her focus back to Ghost, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her coat as she murmured shyly, “Two…”
She was two. Two. Ghost’s mind raced, trying to piece together the details, but nothing clicked. Nearly three years ago… what had he done three years ago? He kept everything categorized, stored in his mind like a well-organized file system, but this was something that didn’t fit.
Then, Soap’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“You don’t seem like the type of lass to frequent Leslies.”
You giggled, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks at Soap’s question. He wasn’t wrong… at least, not entirely. “I’ve only been to Leslie’s once, and, well… it’s how I ended up with my little blessing.” You glanced down at Adira, the warmth of your smile radiating as you spoke.
Everything shattered in that moment. Ghost’s stomach twisted painfully, his heart skipping a beat as the realization slammed into him like a freight train. Leslie's. Almost three years ago, during that stupid holiday.
His mind began to piece it together, the hazy memories from that night slowly coming into focus. He remembered the bar, the laughter, the way you had caught his attention. You were easy on the eyes, easy to make laugh, and most importantly—unlike everyone else. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry, you just let him lead, let him slip into the night with no strings attached.
But now, as he looked at Adira, everything fell into place. The way she stared at him, those familiar eyes, the resemblance he couldn’t ignore. His breath hitched, and the weight of the truth crushed him—she was his daughter.
A knot formed in his throat as he tried to process the fact. Adira. His daughter. The little girl standing before him was his flesh and blood, the result of a moment he'd long since buried in the depths of his mind.
Thinkin' about stalker!Ghost who helps you in little ways.
He became infatuated with you the moment you started your shift at the pub. He subtly kept tabs on you from that day forward, showing up whenever you were on the clock, watching as you tended to unruly patrons each night.
How pretty you were, rolling your eyes as drunken regular asked for your number, a common occurrence on your work days. It irks him, seeing some bastard constantly pester you as if you hadn't shut him down countless times now.
The very next night, the regular doesn't show up, giving you a load off the usual flirtatious annoyance. You were quite caught up in your own life, work, and everything else taking precedence. You didn't have time to notice how that one day turned into countless weeks of uninterrupted work, simply serving drinks and going home.
Ghost watches you on your off days as well, keeping a safe distance while you get your nails done, sitting lovely on a cushion, hands outstretched while the nail tech paints them your favorite color.
He's seen it practically all over your apartment.
Once the tech is finished, you disappeared into the bathroom, giving Ghost the opening he needed. He stepped inside, the intensity of his gaze and build, drawing attention from the patrons. Without much said, he pays for your nails, having no problem swiping that card of his, asking to remain anonymous. He leaves just before you return, smirking to himself at your surprise face as you return, the owner telling you that your nails were paid off.
Wow, must be your lucky day!
After getting your nails done, you took a quick trip to the store, browsing for clothes when a stunning black dress connected to a hefty price catches your attention. It's gorgeous, could be worn on a date or a girls night with your friends but you weren't made out of money.
Huffing a disappointed sigh, you leave without buying it, sparing the alluring dress one last glance before going home. Hours later that night, as you were getting ready for bed, the sound of knocking at your door caught your attention.
In your nightgown, you opened the door and were greeted by a black box sitting out on your welcome mat. For a moment, you looked around, hoping to catch whoever left the mysterious package only to be met with silence and the sound of crickets chirping. Bending down, you picked up the box and flipped open the top, eyes widening at the sight of the dress from the store and with it a note.
Three days had passed since Jellybean, your rescued stray, vanished. Though an outdoor enthusiast at heart, she'd never missed a meal. Now, your phone tracker beeped, signaling proximity. The crafty runt had escaped, but you were closing in. Jellybean's street-smart ways usually brought her home, yet this time felt different. As you followed the signal, hope and worry battled within.
You traveled alone as none of the townspeople were brave enough to help with your search. The mere mention of the North Woods shook them to the core, earning your request swift declines and slammed doors in your face. Whispers and rumors follow you with every interaction
Secluded and untraceable, his cabin lies tucked away, invisible to prying eyes.
Rumors swirl of his territorial fury. Trespassers beware—this hunter stalks from afar. His domain is unforgiving, and his presence is a constant threat. The lucky ones spot the warning sign; others never see him coming.
Even the butcher, renowned for his toughness, said no, unwilling to even hear you out.
“There’s a man in the woods,” he said, voice unwavering. “You’d be smart to forget the idea.”
The boom of the door closing makes you flinch, jumping back a bit. A man in the woods? Surely not.
Even more absurd than some creep in the woods was the thought that the big, bad butcher was scared of him. This was a man who walked you home at night, who sneered at men and pulled you close to his side when you became uncomfortable. You knew him for a long time and you’d never seen him so much as flinch, but suddenly he was all squinted eyes and hushed tones at the thought of even stepping a foot off the beaten path. It couldn't be true, right?
Well, there was only one way to prove him wrong, and it was the only way you were gonna get Jellybean back. You’re going in that forest, urban myth or not.
Shadows lengthen as you exit your truck. The door closes with a hollow thud. The townsfolk's warnings replay in your mind, urging caution. You scan the area, heart racing. Drooping leaves cast an ominous veil over the forest. The murky depths seem to whisper, both alluring and forbidding.
Anxiety grips you as you take a step further. "Bean?" You whisper, voice trembling.
Silence answers. Twigs crack underfoot, and each snap creates an ominous echo. You cringe, the sounds amplifying your unease. Yet you press on, searching the quiet forest.
Minutes stretch like hours as you quietly call Bean's name, doing your best not to attract any unwanted attention, as the woods loom, hiding unknown dangers. Glancing down, your phone shows her location, unchanged, since she first wandered off. Jellybean's absence at this late hour is unsettling. She never stayed out of the house this long, and not so still, either. You can't help but think the worst, deciding to hurry closer to her, praying to find her safe.
Venturing deeper, the terrain grew wilder. Massive leaves parted, revealing fallen trunks and tilted trees. The more you looked around, the more it became clear that the uncharted wilderness wasn't made for humans.
There was no possible way.
The forest gave little leeway to those travelings through its domain. Predators strayed barely out of sight, lurking in hopes you'd be their next meal. A howl in the distance has you on edge, skin crawling, the feeling of being watched running anxious edges.
"Just keep walking. It'll be okay. The tracker says she's near." You reassured yourself under quite murmurs, trying to will your heart calm.
Then it appeared without warning.
A wolf lurches from the woodland gloom, baring his jagged canines, poised and ready to pounce. He circles you in a slow, menacing loop, foam pooling from his parted jaws. His eyes blaze with a frenzied gleam, wild and driven by something beyond hunger. Some dark, unseen force propels him, and you feel it tightening around you.
You turn and run.
Run as fast as your legs can carry you, tearing through the thick underbrush. Foliage slaps your arms and face, and the weeds clutch at your ankles like skeletal fingers desperate to drag you down. You ignore the stinging scratches, the pounding in your chest. If you fall, if you falter for even a second—you know it’s over.
Run.
The untamed beast snaps its jaws inches behind you, hot breath searing your calves, each bite narrowly missing as he hounds you with ruthless, single-minded determination. You crash through a thicket, branches clawing at your arms, tearing through your clothes, until you stumble onto a barely visible trail where weak shafts of light seep through gaps in the trees.
There’s no time to think. No time to process the sting of cuts or the burn in your lungs, nothing beyond the raw, primal instinct to get the hell away from the rabid creature on your heels.
Then you see it.
A cabin.
Really, a dilapidated shack, its sagging roof overrun with twisting vines, looms before you, barely held together by rotting beams and splintered boards. The whole structure looks one hard gust away from collapse, yet it’s the only shelter in sight. You don’t hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, and charge toward the door.
In your frantic rush, you miss the glint of watching eyes, shining like dark coals from the shadows behind, tracking your every move.
You burst inside, slamming the door shut with a desperate shove, then lean your back against it. Your chest heaves, each ragged breath scraping your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath, the weight of dread pressing down on you even harder than the beast’s pursuit.
The aroma of simmering soup wafted through the air, warmth enveloping you. A cozy scene unfolded: a bubbling pot atop a wooden stove, a modest desk tucked away, and a solitary lantern casting a soft glow. The space exuded an unexpected warmth, soft light pooling over worn furniture and the faint scent of old wood calming your frayed nerves. Your pulse slowed as the familiar coziness settled around you. Then, a gentle brush against your leg pulled you from the haze of adrenaline.
You glanced down—and there she was. Jellybean, her eyes wide and radiant, a few telltale crumbs clinging to her brown fur from some long-forgotten snack.
A rush of tenderness overtook the fading remnants of panic. You reached down, catching the elusive little troublemaker as she gave an indignant squirm. “You little—” The half-hearted scold fizzled, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming need to hold her close. “How—How did you end up here, huh?”
Holding Jellybean close, you feel the weight of your situation settling over you—a stranger in a cabin far from familiar ground, with the last of the sunlight slipping away, trapping you inside until dawn. Outside was darkness thick and impenetrable, the forest itself a living maze you dared not attempt at night.
“Shit,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might stir something in the shadows.
Slowly, you move deeper into the space, eyes sweeping over the bare walls and spartan furniture. There’s something unnervingly sterile about the place—no photos, no knickknacks. Not a trace of personality or life. Who would live here? The rumors of some reclusive figure haunting these woods flash through your mind.
No. You shake your head, brushing off the thought. This was probably just some hunter’s shack. Or a place someone from town stayed now and then, just a shelter, nothing more.
Your foot presses down on a loose floorboard, and a loud creak echoes through the stillness. You freeze, heartbeat stuttering. Jellybean’s ears twitch, but she remains calm. Before you can step back, a low groan seeps from somewhere within the cabin, rolling through the floorboards, shivering up your spine.
Your grip tightens on Jellybean, and you hold your breath, listening.
“I-Is anyone there…?” Your voice barely steady. The words hover in the silence, as though the shadows themselves are holding their breath, waiting.
Then, clear as day, you hear it.
“Help… me…”
The voice is thin and broken, barely more than a whisper. Instinct screams at you to ignore it, to sit tight until morning. But something tugs at you. The sound is weak, desperate—human. The cabin feels suddenly smaller, its walls pressing in, urging you to run.
“Please… someone help me…"
A shiver races down your spine. Curse your altruism. You clutch Jellybean tighter, swallowing back the fear rising in your throat.
“U-uh, where…?” The question slips out before you can think, shaky and uncertain.
Silence stretches taut, pressing against your ears. Then, faint and low, a whining sound rises from beneath the floorboards, almost like a wounded animal. Every instinct screams at you to turn back, to stay safe. But you find yourself edging closer to the noise, heart hammering against your ribs.
Your gaze lands on a small, almost-hidden door near the far wall—the entrance to a cellar.
The pleas are louder here, wavering but persistent, each whisper curling up from the depths. “Help… please…”
You should walk away. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. But, against every sliver of common sense, your hand reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush over the handle.
It turns with a rusty groan, and you pull the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into shadow. At the bottom, you catch the flicker of ember light, glowing faintly as if from a dying fire.
The cellar stretches out before you, a vast, dimly lit space far larger than should exist beneath such a modest shack. Shadows cling to the walls, the only light casting a faint, sickly orange glow that barely cuts through the murk. You step cautiously, heart-pounding, but then you glance to your right—and freeze.
The scene hits you with a nauseating force. Men hang suspended from thick meat hooks, bodies bruised and broken, some barely clinging to life, others unmoving, their faces blank and eyes empty. Their battered forms twist slightly in the air, like grotesque puppets left to dangle and rot. You swallow hard, stomach twisting as bile rises in your throat.
But then the horror deepens—recognition dawns. One face after another, familiar, each one seared into memory. The delivery driver who refused to take no for an answer, the lawyer from the pub whose relentless advances wore you down, the pizza guy who loitered outside your job, watching, waiting. All here. Hung like slabs of meat in this nightmarish cellar.
Your mind spins, the details piecing together in a sickening realization. The butcher. He’d warned them off, told you they wouldn’t bother you anymore. But this? This was something beyond any threat, beyond any punishment you’d ever imagined.
How? How had they ended up here? How did any of this exist beneath an unassuming cabin in the middle of the woods?
You weren’t supposed to see this. This was something that should have remained buried, hidden in the depths where secrets go to rot. The enormity of it presses down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.
But then, one of them stirs. The pizza guy, his head lolling weakly to the side, lifts his face. His eyes, clouded and bloodshot, light up with recognition—a desperate spark of life in his hollow gaze. “Help! Please, before he comes back!” he rasps, voice cracking.
He.
The word rings in your mind, cold and jagged. He? Who could do this? Who would do this?
Your voice trembles as the question slips out, a thin whisper in the oppressive silence. “W—who… who are you talking about?”
The cellar door slams shut behind you, the echo reverberating off the cold stone walls, trapping you in the silence that follows. Heavy, methodical footsteps descend the rotting stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight. His breathing is deep, ragged, each inhale and exhale marking his slow, purposeful approach.
Don’t turn around.
Your body locks up, instinct screaming to flee, but your legs refuse to move. You clutch Jellybean tightly to your chest, but suddenly, she squirms, thrashing in your arms in a way she never has before. Confusion twists through your terror—Jellybean has always clung to you, never trying to escape. What was she doing?
With a leap, she slips from your grasp, landing soundlessly on the floor. She pads past you, moving behind you, and the silence is filled with soft, delighted purring.
You don’t want to look. You hold still, desperately hoping that if you don’t move, you’ll disappear, fade into the shadows. But you can feel him standing just behind you, the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm cloud.
And then, a voice. Familiar. Deep, smooth, and thick with a British lilt, edged with something that both chills and soothes you.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, a note of affection clear in his tone as he addresses Jellybean.
Recognition strikes you like a blow. That voice—you’ve heard it a thousand times. The same voice that always offered a warm “good evening” when he walked you home at night. The same voice that laughed as he handed Jellybean her treats at the butcher shop. The same voice that warned you, with a peculiar intensity, to avoid these woods.
The butcher.
---
A/N: I don't usually do long writing stuff... but I've had this one in the drafts for too long and wanted it out. I kind of like how it turned out but I can def improve!
Thoughtful stalker
One night stand
Daddy Kink
The new medic
His biggest fan
Childhood friends
Baby Fever
You get sunburned
Pirate!Ghost
Virgin Ghost's first time
Ghost can draw
Farmhand Ghost
There's a man in the woods.
👻Series
We meet again
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
🚬 Drabbles - Oneshots
The Captain's warm welcome
CEO Price and his assistant
Its a need not a want.
heyy can i ask for virgin!ghost having his first time with reader? ty💗
Non-non, I want you to know I tried to sleep but every time I closed my eyes I thought about this.
-🌤Tags: Afab, nsfw, p in v, over-eager Simon
Your feet stumble backward as Simon takes an aching steps forward, pushing you against the wall. His rough hands explore your mouth watering body, gripping and squeezing any soft flesh he can find. Your lips collide in a frenzied kiss, teeth clashing as you both moan with unbridled lust.
Simon's strong hands wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His hips thrust eagerly against your midriff, each movement accompanied by a grunt that turns into a fussy whimper as his lips meet yours. He's unable to control himself as he ruts away, the bulge of his cock rubbing against your belly button.
Your breaths come in short gasps as you try to speak, but Simon is too lost in his pleasure to hear you. He grinds against you sloppily, his movements wild and desperate. The sound of his heavy pants echoes through the room, the pitch rising with each passing second.
“Si…” You whisper again, this time louder as you place a hand on his chest. It seems to snap him out of his trance, his eyes meeting yours with a teary gaze. A wet spot had already formed on the front of his pants, evidence of his unbridled desire. “Simon, it's not a race.” Your voice is filled with concern and a hint of teasing frustration at his lack of control. His movements slow to a halt as he looks at you, still panting heavily and struggling to regain his composure.
“‘M sorry.” Simon mumbles between bated breaths.
“It's alright, dovie.” You whisper tenderly, cupping Simon's face in your hands. You wipe away any stray tears that escape his eyes, a result of his built-up sexual frustrations. You press a loving kiss to his lips, electing a desperate groan from him.
“Come on, I'm sure the bed is more comfortable.” You say softly, pushing yourself away from the wall and taking him by the hand. Simon follows obediently, his head bowed low like a scolded puppy.
You can't help but chuckle at his demeanor; he's clearly thrilled at the thought of being alone with you and away from work. This would be the furthest you've gone in your relationship aside from the occasional foreplay and groping touches, and clearly, he's ecstatic about it.
Upon reaching the bedroom, Simon wastes no time, stripping out of his clothes with such swiftness that it surprises you. He's impatient, needy, and completely enamored by you. Now naked, his chiseled form stands out amid the dim light, muscles reflecting the weight of his job while the leaky head of his cock announcing his thirst.
He reaches for you, his hands craving to be anchored to your very being, but you push him away, making him growl in frustration. “Not yet, need a johnny.” You remind him as you too begin to get naked.
“Don't need one.” He grumbles out.
“And why not?”
For a moment, there's no answer; only the sound of his heavy breathing as he watches your heavenly body be laid bare to his eyes. His mouth waters as he burns the naked image of you into his mind, never wanting to forget this view.
“Are you gonna answer me, Si?” You turn to look at him and in an instant, he pushes you onto the bed and forces himself between your legs, gazing down at what would be his downfall: your wet and succulent cunt waiting for his ownership. Simon tries to bully his way inside, but you shut your thighs close before he can even try. He meets your gaze with a look of absolute betrayal on his face.
“Do you even know what you're doin’?” You ask, tilting your head curiously.
Simon freezes, almost like a deer caught in headlights, a pink flush creeping up his neck. “I've seen…in videos,” he admits through clenched teeth.
Your lips curve into a hum of amusement as you cautiously open your legs again and watch him for any impulsive moves. “Well, you can't just rush in.” You reach down and grip his cock firmly, bringing it towards your dripping entrance. “Slowly.”
Your teeth sinks into your bottom lip as his cock enters you, thick and full, stretching you wide with each inch. Simon's mouth falls open and his eyes close, focusing on tightness surrounding him.
It's everything he wanted and more.
His excitement takes over, and with an abrupt, strong thrust, he buries himself completely, causing you to gasp in both pleasure and pain. But Simon doesn't seem to notice; he's already lost in the sensation, drooling with delight as a tingling buzz of electricity runs up his spine.
“Ohh… fuck,” Simon moans, thrusting uncontrollably, not giving you a moment to adjust.
You feel incredible. This is what he has been missing out on - pure bliss.
Simon's movements are rough and uncoordinated, hitting spots that you didn't know existed, causing you to occasionally grit your teeth in discomfort but also moan with pleasure.
“Simon, please slow down,” you manage to call out, gripping onto his forearms as he pounds against you.
But he doesn't hear you.
Simon's too focused on the feeling of your pussy around his cock, the wet squelching only adding to his satisfaction. And when he does open his eyes, it's not to look at you but rather at the sight of your stretched and swollen cunt under his relentless act.
You are perfect, your pussy is perfect. His hips are moving, but what about his hands? How does he use them? As he finally looks at your face, his brown eyes beg for help, as if he wasn't just ravishing you without any concern.
You huff with annoyance and briefly consider turning him away after he forced himself onto you. But those brown eyes... how can you resist him? With a roll of your eyes, you take his hands and place them on your breasts. "There, just play with them."
Simon pauses, his large hands exploring and squeezing your breasts to his liking, watching as your mouth falls open in moans.
Ahh... now he's getting it.
Simon begins to thrust again, this time not only focused on his own pleasure but also yours. He rolls and squeezes your breasts until your nipples stand up prettily. He leans down, pressing your breasts together and eagerly suckles and licks on your nipples, with a hint of roughness.
You're seeing stars now.
His length hits a spot deep inside you while his tongue wets your nipples, sucking and making popping sounds as he moves between both tasks.
While Simon's thrusts are still awkward, there is no more pain now as he learns what makes you tighten around him even more. "Am I doing good?" he asks in muffled words, lips sucking hard on one nipple while his eyes plead for praise.
You can only nod, unable to form any words beneath him. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you until his tip reaches your cervix.
This spurs him on even further; the look in his eyes is intense, a burning flame only meant for you. Simon lets go of your breasts, interlocking his fingers with yours as he kisses you sloppily yet passionately, your tongues tangling together in a way he notices sends you into another tight clench. He takes note of this, kissing you even harder, the speed of his hips increasing as your bodies merge in a flurry of skin slapping against skin.
As your stomach tightens and your legs tremble, you know an orgasm is inevitable. "Si-" You gasp, pulling away from his lips. Simon silences you with a kiss, whispering, "Shh... I know."
He feels it, too. He wants it, too. He wants you to climax all over his cock. And you want nothing more than to give it to him. After all, it's his first time, and it's only fair that he gets his loves slick all over him.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as your bodies meld together in a warm embrace. Simon's close, too. He has been holding back since he entered you, savoring the feeling of being inside you for as long as possible. But with you beneath him, willing to give into his selfishness, how can he resist any longer?
He's on the edge, his hips starting to betray him. So he holds onto you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rolls his hips out one last time before slamming back in and filling you with his hot cum.
"Simon!" You cry out in pleasure as your own orgasm washes over you, mixing with his inside of you.
In the aftermath, there is only silence apart from the sound of your heavy breathing. The scent of sex and sweat fills the air, mixed with the musky aroma of Simon's cologne. It's almost suffocating, but in the most exhilarating way
Neither of you moves or speaks until you break the silence. "You did good, big guy," you praise sweetly, running your fingers through his hair.
But Simon grumbles at that; he doesn't want to just be good. He wants to be better for you. "Let's change that," he states huskily, pressing feather-light kisses to your neck and collarbone, already hardening inside of you for round two.
"Fuck." You moan as he starts moving again.
🌤 Ty for the request, I have sm more, but it's hard to come up with ideas.
