#simon riley needs a hug

[screamingoverfiction]

Warm Welcome

More Ghost since I can't keep this masked man out of my head. 18+ Smut ahead, domestic Ghost, and unmasked for most of it. Use of Y/n, written in third person. (If there are any mistakes I sincerely apologize, I wrote half of this at 3am)

Word Count: 2.6k

She hadn't heard from Simon in weeks, but it felt like months-no, years. He was out on a mission, but he could usually spare a minute for a simple text, but there was nothing.

She sat in their shared apartment, her mind always on him, worrying for his safety, cursing his name, and longing for his touch.

She was retired from the field after sustaining a nasty gunshot to the stomach. Simon had practically begged her to stay home, afraid for her safety.

Luckily, Y/n had decided her time in the military was over. She'd seen enough blood for a thousand lifetimes. Her hands still felt dirty from the many lives she's taken.

Sighing as she leaned against her couch, she bit her nails, nervously thinking of the worse possibilities. What if the enemy held him hostage? What if they pried his eyes from their sockets? Or ripped his teeth out? What if they knew about her? He'd most definitely break if they even mentioned her name.

Suddenly, there were footsteps outside their apartment. Already high on fear and adrenaline, Y/n sprang from the couch, immediately grabbing the knife she always had tucked into her waistband.

She slowly inched toward the door, careful to stay silent, ready to pounce at any moment. She crept to stand beside the door, aiming the knife precisely.

When the knob turned and someone entered. She was quick to attack, swinging her arm sideways to knock her elbow into their neck, pinning them against the wall beside the door, knife to their throat.

"Not a very warm welcome," Ghost said snidely, his eyes flickering with mischief behind his hard-shelled skull mask.

Y/n's gaze quickly softened. She dropped the knife and stepped away from Ghost, breathing heavily, eyes scanning his figure, unbelieving that he was actually there.

"You complete and utter asshole!" She cried, relief and venom both lacing her tone.

"That's more like I expected," He breathed, taking a step forward and wrapping his arms around her, encasing her in his embrace.

Y/n wrapped her arms around his strong body, resting her head against his chest and basking in his familiar scent.

But she soon pulled away, her hands going to his chest and pushing him back with a powerful shove.

"I haven't heard from you in weeks! It's radio silence! Not even a fucking text, Simon! I was so worried. I feared the worst! I thought you were dead! I was half expecting Price to show on our doorstep holding your tags and a folded flag!" She shouted, shoving her fists into his chest again, not doing much because of the tactical gear still covering his body.

Ghost grabbed her wrists, pulling her forward and holding her against him. His hand supported the back of her head while she tightly gripped his clothes.

"I know. I'm sorry. I wanted to contact you, but it was too risky. If they'd found out about you, I'd never forgive myself," He whispered lowly, rubbing his hands comfortingly down her arms.

"I know, Simon. I'm sorry I got mad," She said shakily, guilt pooling in her stomach.

"Don't apologize, love. You were just scared," Simon sighed, finally at peace now that she was here, safe in his arms.

They stayed there in silence for what felt like ages, simply basking in the warm feeling that each other was safe.

"Do you wanna get that gear off now?" Y/n mumbled, hooking her arms around his neck, toying with the fabric at the base of his mask.

"Mhmm, I could use a nice hot shower," Simon hummed, a smile playing on his lips, and even though his mouth was still covered, she could tell it was there.

Y/n smirked, brushing her finger under his chin and placing a soft kiss on his still-masked jaw.

"Come on, big head," She said, leading him down the hall and into their bedroom.

Simon sat on the edge of the bed, watching her walk into the connecting bathroom and start the shower.

He slowly started to remove his gear, untieing his heavy boots and setting them neatly on the floor.

Y/n walked back to him, her hands finding the straps to his tactical vest, helping him pull it off.

"Fucking hell," He groaned as her hands grazed along his shoulders, softly massaging the muscles.

She didn't take off his mask, waiting until he told her to or until he did it himself.

"The water should be hot now," She whispered, brushing her lips against his jaw.

"Join me," He said sternly, snaking his arms under her t-shirt, running his palms over her hips.

Y/n inhaled sharply at the contact, it'd been so long since he touched her, and she burned for him, but this wasn't the time.

"Are you sure? I doubt you'll get much washing done if I'm there," Y/n murmured, smirking softly.

Simon sighed, hating that she was right. He rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, breathing in her comforting scent.

"I'll be right here when you get out," She assured, stroking his neck and kissing him on the temple, even if it was still covered.

Y/n slid off his lap, watching him reluctantly stand up and walk into the bathroom.

He left the door open as he stripped, pulling his shirt over his head along with his mask and leaving it on the counter.

Y/n had to physically will her eyes away from him, knowing that if she kept them on his muscle-toned and tattooed back, she wouldn't be able to resist.

She mindlessly scrolled through her phone while waiting for him to finish. She'd left a set of clothes in there for him to change into, but she silently hoped he'd 'forget' about the shirt.

It only took him about ten minutes to wash. If she had joined him, they'd have stayed under the water until their skin pruned.

Y/n lifted her eyes when she heard him getting dressed, her eyes scanning over his damped figure, desire swarming in her stomach.

Simon did, in fact, 'forget' a shirt, instead choosing to walk out of the bathroom in nothing but black sweats hanging loosely over his hips, revealing his v-line and faint happy trail.

Her eyes locked with his, his face now exposed to her and just as handsome and beautiful as ever. Short blond hair, powerful features, light stubble, and various faded scars. His nose was strong and defined, just like his cheekbones, and a scar ran across his lip.

"I think you've got some drool on your chin, love," Simon said with a smirk, walking over to their dresser to fold his gear.

Y/n just rolled her eyes, mumbling something insulting under her breath.

He stood with his back to her, flexing his rippling muscles and cracking his neck, purposely inviting her to touch him. He started toward the door for no reason, knowing just how to set her off.

Y/n quickly hopped off the bed, walking forward and grabbing his wrist, forcing him to stay. Ghost did the rest. He swiftly turned around, grasped her hips with his large hands, and crashed their lips together, connecting their mouths in a feverishly passionate kiss.

The kiss was powerful and hungry. Both parties yearned for the other. The sweet taste of their tongues almost faded away.

Simon's hands traveled further down, resting on her thighs and effortlessly hoisting her into his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands grasping either side of his face, furiously kissing him. He'd gladly let her suck the breath from his lungs even if it killed him.

He carried her to the bed, not breaking their kiss as they collapsed onto the covers. Her fingers ran over his shoulders, back, biceps-wherever they could. She wanted to feel his whole entire body.

His knee went between her thighs, pressing against her heat and making her let out a soft hiss. The aching in her core only amplified.

"God, I've missed you," Simon breathed lowly, lips traveling to kiss her neck, breath fanning over her sensitive skin. Y/n quietly groaned when he kissed her sweet spot, biting down and kissing hard enough to leave a purple mark.

She knocked her head back, giving him his chance to attack her throat, which he eagerly took, lips leaving marks wherever they landed.

His hands roamed over her body, snaking under her shirt and pulling it over her head, then returning his lips to hers. She couldn't help but gasp as he skillfully unclipped her bra.

Simon threw the material elsewhere, his mouth finding purchase on her sensitive breasts, kissing and kneading at the skin. He slowly trailed his lips downward, pausing at her lower stomach and smirking widely.

"You tease me, Riley, and there will be hell to pay," Y/n seethed, eyes darkening with lust, glaring at Simon.

His lips twitched upwards into an even wider smirk, but he obliged nonetheless, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her shorts and yanking them off her legs.

His mouth hovered over her clothed pussy, breath fanning against it, sending jolts of fire through her core. Almost as if he was trying to piss her off, he slowly brushed his nose against her clothed clit, making her hiss.

He carefully removed her panties, discarding them elsewhere and nearly drooling at the sight of her arousal. He pushed her thighs apart with his strong hands, her now cunt splayed out in front of him, dripping wet and aching to be touched.

"Such a pretty little cunt, you're so wet, and I haven't even touched you," He breathed lustfully, breath hitting her sensitive nerves, sending a spark through her. His eyes shot up, meeting hers, which begged him to touch her.

Putting his teasing on hold, he attached his lips to her clit, tongue darting inside her entrance, causing strings of sharp cries to escape her lips.

Her legs wanted to close around him, but he just hoisted them over his shoulders, keeping them apart while he devoted her pussy. His tongue worked magically against her clit, striking every nerve ending to send waves of pleasure through her body.

She couldn't hold back her moans. With each stroke of his tongue, a new sound radiated from her mouth, making the bulge in his pants ache against the fabric.

But Simon was hungry, no- he was starving, so he ate, and ate and ate until her body was convulsing in his arms from multiple orgasms, her lips crying out his name while her cunt clenched against his tongue, nose brushing against her clit, her thighs squeezing against his hands that kept them spread apart, his fingers digging into the flesh so hard it would bruise.

He greedily lapped up her release like a starved dog. Hungry for his meal. God, Simon would die for Y/n. He'd kill for her. He has killed for her.

Her hands were tightly laced in his hair, her hips spasming against him, but he just held her in place while he finished licking.

"Simon," She quietly moaned, gasping at the overstimulating feeling of his tongue lapping away against her clit.

"Yes, baby? Tell me what you want," He purred lowly, running his fingers down her folds, slowly sliding one into her entrance.

"Fuck Simon, I need you. Please, please, fuck me," She begged, tears stinging her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. She was reduced to nothing from his touch, a pathetic shell of a woman, but she didn't care. She needed him to fuck her.

A wicked smirk spanned over his lips, his eyes sparkled with hunger, a deep desire resonating in his core. His cock yearned for release, aching against the fabric of his pants. He slowly raised his body to hover over her, smiling at her disheveled state.

"Atta' girl," He said feverishly, crashing his lips against hers, slipping a second finger inside her tight pussy, making her sharply gasp. He curled his fingers upward, hitting her g-spot perfectly but at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Please, Simon," She whimpered, hands cupping his face as his lips furiously moved against hers.

Simon let out a grumble of a moan. It was guttural and low, rough and throaty. He removed his fingers from her core, making her groan in disapproval.

Her hands fumbled with his waistband, eagerly pulling his sweats down his legs. Her hands flew to his boxers to yank them free as well, but he grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand.

"Good girls keep their hands to themselves," He cooed seductively, his warm breath against her ear, his lips grazing the sweet spot below her earlobe.

Y/n quietly pleaded against his lips, her mouth barely able to mouth the words from his intense kiss.

Simon effortlessly pulled his boxers off, revealing his aching cock, red angry tip, precum dribbling over the head. He slowly aligned his erection with her entrance. The tip just barely pushed inside.

He hoisted one of her legs, wrapping it around his abdomen, lips attaching to hers, hungrily kissing the soft pink flesh. Y/n let out a low hiss when he thrust his full length in, bottoming out, giving her no time to adjust before he started harshly thrusting in her.

She cried out in pain and pleasure, arching herself into him, her mind foggy, drunk on bliss. She couldn't remember her own name, and she didn't care, she wanted Simon to fuck her senseless, and he was doing just that.

His thrusts were powerful and perfectly times, hitting her g-spot with every stroke. The sounds of skin slapping and strangled moans could be heard for miles. Simon wanted to mark her as his, show everyone who she belonged to.

"God, I've missed you," He groaned into her throat, biting and kissing along the skin.

"I missed you so much," Y/n whimpered, tears spilling from her eyes from the intense euphoria that pulsed through her veins. His cock throbbed inside her, her walls clenching around him as her impending orgasm approached like a rouge wave.

"Oh, fuck, Simon," She moaned, head buried in his shoulder. His grip on her wrists loosened, and she immediately clung to his back, her nails slicing through the flesh, sending a soft hiss through Simon.

"Fucking hell, love, I'm gonna fill you up, have this pretty cunt full of my cum," He mumbled, bringing his lips crashing back against hers, swallowing her pretty moans.

"Shit, Simon, I'm so close," She said against his lips, feeling the all too familiar knot bubbling inside her, coiling and tightening, threatening to snap.

"Fuck, Y/n, cum on my cock," He groaned, thrusts becoming sloppier as he chased his own high.

Y/n's core was ablaze, her moans so high pitched it might break glass as she broke apart on his cock, eyes rolling into her skull, body spasming and arching into him. Her liquids soaking his cock, walls clenching tightly around him.

Simon came in one final thrust, pushing himself as deep as he could, tip brushing her cervix as his cum coated her walls. He kept thrusting, riding through their highs.

Y/n's hands tangled in his hair, gripping it tightly and kissing him so passionately they couldn't breathe. When she finally pulled away to take a much-needed breath of air, his forehead rested against hers, his hands soothingly running along her skin.

"I love you," Was a mere whisper that came from his lips. Somewhere along the line, they'd subconsciously decided that I love yous didn't need to be said to be meant.

"I thought we agreed those words were a death trap?" She said back breathlessly, blinking away her tears, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

"I don't care,"

"Then I love you too,"

[aforestescape]

i can’t stick to a script xd. was gonna be the final part to demisexual!simon but it’s more about simon trying to heal. kinda proud of this one ngl :)

content includes mentions of depression and anxiety, mentions of nightmares, panic attacks, mute!simon

part one. part two. part three.

standing in simons living room, waiting on him to open up to you felt like walking along the edge of a canyon. you’d put yourself here. let yourself be easily swayed into loving simon. everytime you looked back it felt inevitable that you’d care so much about him. he deserved it. he deserved to be loved and seen and cherished through softness. it wasn’t hard to tell that’s what kept him so closed off when you had a similar history.

but you’d already started healing by your first meeting. much closer to opening up and feeling safe with a stranger because you knew you had yourself in the end. you were in your own corner if nobody else was and while that hurt you so much as a child now it was a badge of honor. something to show that you grew through hell and the fires that were meant to suffocate only made you immune to the flames.

the same couldn’t be said for him. not yet. he was still wounded by his past, guarded and closed off. keeping ghost at the forefront so he wouldn’t have to show the wounds that still needed to be licked clean. he still spent almost every night staring at his ceiling in the dark, waiting and scared to fall asleep because he knew the nightmares would be reaching for him. he still flinched away from searching hands and love.

he craved it, he knew a part of him did. that little boy who had to be brave and strong. who stood as a crumbling pillar before his father every time he sought to hurt those he cared about. that little boy who deserved softness and affection. who needed to hear that while it’s okay to be strong, he doesn’t need to be all the time. that he could lay down his ailments and let someone else heal him for a little while.

the boy who even when wishing those things knew he had nobody on his side. there was no one to protect him, he had to be the protector.

he was beginning to understand that. after years in therapy, something shifted. something made him a little less afraid of getting better. it’d be poetic and cheesy to say it was you. that his desire to love you the way you deserved is what made him feel like he was capable of healing in the first place. but it was mostly what he saw in the reflection of your eyes.

it was the fact that you were still soft and caring after experiencing just as much brutality as him as a child. that you weren’t afraid to show it but also knew when others didn’t deserve that care. it was him having living proof that someone who still had those nightmares, who still threw up in fear on the hardest days managed to smile because you’d started to like living.

he didn’t have to love it. didn’t need to love himself or the world around him. but he could like things about himself. like his growing affinity for art and diy. not something he’d ever expected to pick up but johnny had showed him his (horrid) crust pants from when he was a teenager and custom patches he still hasn’t sewed to his jacket. he could do that, he’d spent plenty of hours sewing the hardened skull face onto his mask.

painting bones along his gloves to express himself, even in a way that was far more morbid than the world would like. he’d sit at the kitchen table of his flat, shitty lightbulb glowing yellow light as he used the paints you let him borrow. more color, even if it was just reds and greens. painting vines and bones growing from each other onto canvas. feeling a sense of calm he didn’t really think about until hours later when he was staring at the finished piece.

it made his throat close up. tears spilling over his eyes and ragged breathes that he only just managed to squeeze out of his lungs. palming over his chest because his heart ached and rattled with each inhale, exhale. feeling like he needed to claw his own chest out to breath and. and he could understand now. even if it was just a little bit, that that was the point.

when he asked you on one of your late night smokes on your balcony, how you got better. and you told him that you just found things to like about yourself. that you didn’t really realize it until suddenly you weren’t weighed down so much by the years of depression and abuse and loneliness. that you’d remembered that you liked art and you liked music. and you liked your taste in those things and that was pretty cool. and somehow it grew to be enough. just enough to want to breathe for the first time.

that’s what it felt like as he panicked at his kitchen table. trying to remember the skills his doctor told him, taking deep breaths. eyes flickering to count, five colors. so much black in his space. black, grey, red, green…green. he could hear birds outside, chirping incessantly in the morning, just at the edge of his mind. birds, the neighbors moving around, the telly he’d left on, his own breathing, cars out the window.

it took him a little while to settle but it didn’t hurt as much as it normally did. it was like finding you crying on the floor of the bathroom on your birthday. when he moved to crouch down and sign worried questions. and you laughed and smiled and cried about how fucked up life was but here you were, stubborn and unwilling to die anymore. how bullshit it was for you to have not been given a proper chance and yet you did this. you worked through it somehow when you never saw this light. when a year ago you would’ve called bullshit.

he would’ve said it was bullshit a few months ago. but now that uneasy, retched feeling of hope grew along with him. through each day, each time he stared up at the sky and pushed away the voices that echoed back at him. it felt a little easier and that was scary. but he supposed he also didn’t mind.

[ponyosmom35]

comfort

Simon Riley x reader

Liability series chapter twenty eight

Synopsis: reader gets into a massive fight about politics with her father, leaving her upset as she and Simon go up to her room to calm her down. 

Warnings: fighting, angst, cursing, fluff, Simon is a sweetheart. 

Liability series:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

she rushes up to her room with Simon hot on her trail. His heavy footsteps following hers as shes stomp to her childhood room. She slams the door open ignoring the loud yells from her father from downstairs. She paces back and forth as Simon gently closes the door.

“no he’s such a fucking idiot! I literally don’t understand how the fuck he can act this way?! Like he doesn’t fucking listen, he just waits for me to be done talking so he can push his idiotic views on me fuck it’s so goddamn stupid I hate being here!” she rants loudly

“baby” Simon says gently

She whip around to face him, her red and angry face finds him sitting on her bed scratching the back of his head. “am I wrong? I mean you can’t just pick and choose when you support trans rights, you can’t sit here and say that you don’t care what people do as long as their happy and then turn around and make all of those horrible points! what the fuck that is fucking insane and it makes me sick that he thinks that way! It doesn’t even make any fucking sense” she exclaims

“love-”

“Simon he just keep interrupting me without letting me get a single point out, like that isn’t how you have a fucking conversation let me speak, why don’t you respect me enough to hear what I have to say?”

“y/n-”

“I listen to him and once I start to speak about something that he doesn’t agree with- that's when he stops listening. Give me basic respect goddamn he has no idea how to talk to somebody then the fucking gaslighting starts, ‘oh I'm sorry I’m a terrible father who you can't stand I love you more than you'll ever know’ shut the fuck up with that I’m not gonna feel sorry for you and apologize this is a matter of human fucking rights-”

“baby stop, take a deep breath” Simon interrupts. She glares at him as she attempts to keep her anger at her father rather than shifting it to him. “do you agree with him or something?” she asks, crossing her arms. 

Simon stands and places his hands on her shoulders, staring down at her lovingly. He knew that it took quite a lot to work her up to the point where she would actually fight. Once she reached that level she was not gonna back down. Though he didn’t like seeing her fight with her father, he coudln’t help but admire the way she stuck up for what she believed in. He smiles “no I’m so proud of you and how you fought for what's right. you are 100% correct with everything you said”

“its so fucking infuriating” She says as her lips begins to tremble. Her eyes gloss over and she tries to blink away the tears but they fall quickly. He pulls her into a hug instantly, rubbing her back comfortingly. “I know lovie”

“I’m not even upset it’s just…” She trials off “I get it” he responds

Simon pulls back slightly, pushing her hair behind her ears and wiping the tears. She sniffles and he lets her go, allowing her to take off her glasses and clean them off from the fresh tears. She stares at the wall as the voices of her parents arguing through the walls pierces her ears. Simon wraps himself around her, pulling ger into him as he holds his head on her shoulder. She holds onto his forearm as he begins rocking them back and forth. He starts kissing her neck, knowing how ticklish she was there. 

She bursts out laughing at the song and allow him to turn her body, so they were facing each other. He pulls her into him, lifting her up in the air over his shoulder. She gasps as the air is taken from her lungs and wheezes loudly. “put me down” she laughs

“sorry love, I can’t control myself” he says in his thick british accent. She cackles as he spins us around three times. His hand slaps her ass as he allows her to slide down to his chest. He holds her body close and falls limp, smiling up at him. He clutches her tighter and she gasps as it begins to hurt. She wraps her arms around his neck and pull myself around him. Allowing him to hold her like a child.

“I love you so much” she said.

“I love you too darling”

a/n

this is based on a real fight I got into with my dad, I wish I had a Simon to calm me down ugh

[wispscribbles]

I love your ghost design. I wanna squeeze him :⁠^⁠)

If no hug then why hug-shaped???

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

FUCKKKK

FUCK ME FUUUCCKKKKK MEEEEEEE

You'll be okay Simon

Charlotte Le Jardin x Ghost

@sleepyconfusedpotato IM NOT OKAY BUT AT THE SAME TIME I AM 😭😭

Pls ignore any mistakes I'll fix later.

Warnings: mentions of child ab*se, mentions of death, Angst, fluff

As a child he had no safe place, no one to rely on when he was scared, confused etc. Only himself.

One day it gets to him he's a mess, the inner child of him screaming for someone, anyone to listen to his pain that he's had to carry since a child. His mind is racing, negative thoughts, self blame, all of it. It's crashing down on him and dragging him further and further into the darkness. His mind and body so overwhelmed by it all, he shuts the lights off and tears of his mask throwing it far away, this is Simon. NOT ghost, not the persona he made to guard his vulnerable identity. Not the fearful Lieutenant of the 141...no...just simon...the man....the boy...the human who needed his parents but never got the ones he deserved. The one who cried himself to sleep every night wishing mommy and daddy would stop arguing, that his father would stop all the abuse. He's drowning in all the sorrow and pain from childhood, then comes the anger, the anger from the betrayals he had to go through, the anger of being so close to people and watching them die. He throws things around the room in a fit of rage and self blame before collapsing to the floor in tears, his sobs echo in the small room. He slams his fist into the ground, his knuckles turning white.

His mind still going a mile a minute- the ringing in his ear creating this uncomfortable energy around him- then a voice breaks through it all.

"Ghost?.."

He looks up and finds jade who is standing in the doorway staring down at him in disbelief and worry. Was this truly the Lieutenant of the 141? Was this ghost? The black eye makeup that usually was only around his eyes had run down his face and smeared up around his forehead from when he kept figurousliy running his hand through his hair in an attempt to calm down. His clothes all wrinkled and disheveled, hair sticking up all over. No this wasn't ghost…the wasn't the Lieutenant…this was simon. Jade gently closes the door and walks to him where she Sits down on the floor and gently places her hand on his face. His eyes close as he relishes her soft touch, Warm tears spills from his eyes again as he grabs her hand with his own shaking hand. He scooted closer to her, he wanted to feel her warmth, her kindness. He wanted to feel her.

Jade takes this moment to pull on Ghost bringing him to her where he quickly wraps his arms around her waist and hugs her tightly. Jade says nothing, but she brings her own arms to wrap around him gently rubbing his back as she listens to his sobs. Soon his breathing begins to level out and he breathes slower he shifts his head and body to lay his head on her lap. She rakes her finger through his hair as he begins to tell her all his fears, all his worries, everything that has bugged him his whole life. She says nothing but listens to him intently, speaking can come later for now she wanted to hear it all. Down to every detail so she could help him the best she could at the end.

He finally stops talking and lays there, he feel pathetic but at the same time feels so much better than he did in the beginning. He looks up to her and feels the warmth radiating for the soft gentle smile she gives him. She leans down and plants a small kiss on his forehead, he closes his eyes feeling the drowsy effect from all the crying and for the first time in awhile felt relaxation wash over his body. Jade continues to run her fingers through his hair and smiles. The last thing simon heard before drifting off to sleep was something he's been needing to hear for years...

"You'll be okay simon…

I'll always be right here for you"

[m-1-8]

c o n t a c t

[lennadanvers]

Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

I wrote this for ao3 originally. I'm working on the final part, so I thought I'd start reposting here in the meantime. I hope someone likes it. I feed on comments btw. Just leaving that there.

Ghost’d had missions go badly before… No, scratch that. He had been part of missions that had gone terribly. Some he had barely survived. A lot had failed. That just happens.

Still, he felt like shit.

He was familiar with the feeling. He didn’t understand it, though. Everyone in his team had made it out alive. Even more than that, there had been only a couple minor injuries. That was a luxury he had learned to appreciate. Yes, the target they were supposed to find and bring back to base was laying, dead, on the floor of the helicopter. It wasn’t an especially gruesome sight, either. One shot at the back, most of the blood was still wet on the floor of the enemy base. Ghost had seen people practically turned inside out; this was almost as pleasant at it could get.

He had been dragging the target. The target, because they didn’t have a name. They never did. It had been a person. A very well informed person, if he had to guess, based on the urgency to get them back. Now they were a corpse. They had made the transition in his arms. He hadn’t even realized the target had bled out until they were already flying back.

Price wasn’t going to be happy, but he knew how the job was. Casualties were expected. At least the target wasn’t in anybody else’s hands.

Ghost looked down at his own. His gloves were dirty. If he flexed his fingers, he’d feel the stickiness of the blood. He knew the feeling well enough to be certain that the burning of the cold water of the sink wouldn’t erase it.

The movement of the helicopter landing made him look up. He jumped over the body of the target and stepped out. The sun didn’t touch his skin, completely covered in military grade fabric. But he felt it nonetheless.

His eyes, used to scanning his surroundings, had found you standing at the edge of the helipad. You were right next to the medics, ready to help save the corpse he had dragged here. Suddenly, Ghost became aware of every little sore and tense spot in his body. He had always thought you were capable. Your hands were smaller than his, more delicate- everyone’s were- but still ruthless and unwavering. He took a deep breath and wondered how long it would take you to get rid of all the knots in his back.

Your neck looked pretty, too. No, not pretty. He almost shook his head. Inviting. Warm. Your blood was close to the surface there, but still hidden. Where it belonged. He tore his gloves off, struggling with the stickiness.

Ghost didn’t cry. It wasn’t a matter of pride, or toughness. He had simply forgotten how to. But he started to walk towards you and felt the heat flooding his throat. The closer he got, the smaller you looked and the more pathetic he felt. His boots dragged him across the cement; yours were steady, still. Clean. He was covered in dirt. Another step and he was almost at arms reach. His uniform was itchy. He hadn’t noticed that since he was a rookie. And his holsters were tight, Ghost made sure of that.

Would you hold him tighter?

Would you be warm? Warmer than the target? You’d feel alive.

You’d smell of your shampoo- he had grown used to its fragrance in the showers: it lingered and overpowered his unscented one, even if you had left hours ago. It reminded him of warm, cleansing water. Of the feeling of being bare.

He shook his head. The mask was getting uncomfortable. Your skin looked so soft, though. He blinked. Your collarbone against his lashes. The idea made him inhale deeply.

Another step and he was next to you. You smiled at him; not a big smile, rather a small, confused one. Ghost stared at you for a second, the tears stabbing his throat. All he could do, head ducking as if aiming to hide in your neck, was to shake his head.

Then another step and he kept walking to his barracks: back still tense, nose still burning with the smell of gunpowder, hands itching with dry blood.

Part 2

[the-palelady]

I was wondering if you were writing your crime wife thought as a full story/longer drabble? If not may I request her meeting Ghost???? Thank you!!!

- 🪼

i have written some thoughts on this, and half of a chapter, but it's been so long since i've written a series. i'm not sure how i feel about it tbh. i'm pretty self conscious. i'll mention here and in the warnings that reader is afab and she also doesn't have a name, but she does go by a nickname. friend of mine helped me to decide on the nickname and where it came from so shoutout to them otherwise it would have ended up being something about sharks lmao

but plz feel free to send reqs for this little idea or any others! ♡

cw ; afab!reader, brief mentions of abuse, reader has severe anxiety and a stutter, brief mention of blood in a metaphor, reader does not have a name but she does go by a nickname, i tried to keep most other descriptions of reader pretty vague so everything else is up for interpretation, she and ghost are hella awkward

The breeze was a stranger to you, an unknown feeling against your skin as you stepped out into the spring sun. Your dress fluttered like the wings of the birds that flew about around you, dancing along the thralls of freedom, something you had longed to taste.

How long has it been now? How long have you been stuck here in this prison, the walls of your cell slowly closing in on you day by day? Time was hardly something you understood anymore. What was the point in keeping up?

Your husband had taken his leave earlier in the morning. You were thankful that he left you be, allowing you to stay consumed by your dreams. However, you could hardly call a void opening up underneath your feet and swallowing you whole a dream.

But nightmares were safer than the gaze and touch of your oh-so-loving husband.

You had the house to yourself, for the most part. You knew somehow, someway, your husband still had eyes on you. You were unsure how, but he always managed to know every little thing you were doing from what books you read to what time you decided to crawl into bed. Even if he was miles away from home, he knew every detail about your life. Your own personal dictator.

The thought made your temples pulsate, a headache beginning to form when you had barely stepped outside.

You wouldn’t let your husband get in the way of your one chance at solace. He wasn’t here to hound you about how disheveled your hair looked when the wind had torn through it, pushing it to and fro. He wasn’t here to decide what your dinner for the night would be. He wasn’t here to put his hands on you, shoving you back into the wall as he blamed you for every little wrong thing that happened in his life. He wasn’t here to blame you for his own mistakes.

So you put on a dress you had kept hidden in the back of your closet, a white sundress with blue lemon tree accents and puffy sleeves. The waist was cinched, revealing your curves, and the square neckline allowed the sun to kiss the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. The dress cascaded down to the middle of your shins, pooling out around you as you sat amongst the blanket you brought with you to the garden.

You were surrounded by all of your favorite things: the sun, flowers, and butterflies that danced atop the curves of the leaves on the bushes you had spent years mothering.

This was your safe haven, your joy. The only happiness you felt you had left.

Soon your husband would return, and you’d have to retreat back into the warzone that was your own home. You’d be tucked back into your tower, unable to see the sun, unable to see the flowers you’d spent so long taking care of, flowers you’d watched bloom with your own eyes all those summers ago when love didn’t take the form of a wild bull. Its horns had ripped flesh from bone, puncturing what was left of your heart and letting you slowly bleed out.

Nausea began to settle deep in the pit of your stomach.

Your hands reached for one of the many books you had brought out, landing on The Picture of Dorian Grey, one you had already read a thousand times.

You open to the first page, your eyes gravitating to the words as if it were second nature. You read sentences, and paragraphs, ahead in your mind, the book memorized from front to back, engraved in the crevices of your mind.

And yet you still found yourself smelling the roses and lilacs of Basil Howard’s studio as he listened to Lord Henry boast about his art, and how he explained the beauty of the young lad Dorian Grey.

“You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours…” You read the lines aloud, word for word, your voice growing soft as you reach the end.

“...That is all.”

Snap.

Your eyes fly up to the bush that sits to your right. Over the years your ears had grown sensitive to the sounds around you, always listening for the footsteps of your husband, listening for the clack of the bulls' hooves as he charged towards your cell.

But you were met with a silence that sucked the oxygen from your lungs. You could have looked away. There was nothing there. Nothing that you could see at least. So it was safe, right?

So you blinked back the fear in your eyes, pushing it aside and turning your attention back to the book in your lap. However, it was hard to concentrate on the words now, the syllables jumbled into one chaotic mess, a tornado of letters that seemed incomprehensible. Your ears felt full of water. Your esophagus became tight, an unseen force pushing you under the waves of an ocean you’ve only ever seen in your nightmares.

You were being consumed by the fear that your husband had instilled into you, the vexed look in his eyes flashing behind your own. However, fright molded you into an ignorant woman, that very ignorance keeping you from seeing the brawn of a man standing from behind the very bush you had been wary of. He was slow, calculating, giving you plenty of time to react, and yet you didn’t.

You were lost at sea, plunged under the waves by the anxiety that had nestled its way into your life, so graciously placed there by the so-called “love of your life”.

The leaves rustled, and you blinked: once, twice, then three times.

You were intelligent. This was one of the few words of affirmation you had given yourself over the years, one of the few things you actually believed.

And yet in this moment, you couldn’t have felt any more stupid. Thinking wasn’t an option when his clouded, amber eyes locked with yours. His size was something you should have accounted for when your book fell out of your grip and you lept from the blanket. You thought you’d be fast.

But he was much faster.

His iron grip was on you before you could even take a step towards the house. His massive, gloved hand practically consumed your bicep. Out of instinct, you kept quiet. You blame your silence on your husband. The only sound you made was a quiet gasp as the stranger tugged you towards him, forcing you to face him.

Those chocolate eyes were so much brighter up close, the color reminding you of the outer wing pattern of an Atlas Moth. They shined in the afternoon sun, glowing in a way that had you enamored despite the pure horror that circulated through you. The rest of his face was obscured by a mask with a skull painted on it. The skin around his eyes was painted with black paint that seemed applied in a rushed or lazy manner, and you could see beads of sweat dripping down through the pigment.

Your eyes were wide, you were sure, a deer in headlights. Yet you didn’t resist, didn’t tug against the hold he had on you. After all, obedience was all you had ever known.

“Shh shh…husband doesn’t need t’know I’m ‘ere. Be quiet f’me, yeah?”

You simply watched the way his mask crinkled where his lips would be. His voice was a deep timbre, a sound most would find intimidating and yet you found it…charming. The way he spoke was hardly threatening, and over time his grip on your arms seemed to loosen as well.

“Well?”

Your eyes darted back up to his, lips parting to speak, but words were never your strong suit. So you instead opted to nod, bobbing your head up and down slowly, noting the way he studied your movements so closely.

And as quickly as his touch was there, it was gone, one hand falling to his side while the other reached up to rub across his face and down his chin.

“Bloody hell…” he whispered, your eyes still tracking his movements. After all, this was your home, your garden, and this complete stranger was just…standing here, speaking to you so casually, even making demands of you.

Not that you’d have told your husband anyway.

You watched his irises flick from the flowers of your garden to the windows of your house that sat behind you and then back down to you. You stood on the brink of being consumed by the stillness of the air, the situation making you fidget your fingers, index fingers intertwining with one another as your hands crossed.

It was impossible to read him, his body language relaxed and yet stiff all at once. You couldn’t tell whether he was scrutinizing you or simply just had a staring problem, maybe even both. The man simply towered over you, staring down at you with a look you couldn’t decipher even as he spoke.

“Husband did say ya were a quiet one. Although most people would scream if they were grabbed by a stranger.”

His statement was blunt, tone flat. Perhaps you had a staring problem as well, focus cast on the look in his eyes, and the way the sun made the pools of amber sparkle. You didn’t even notice the way your lips parted or the scratchy voice that came out right after.

“Just…just wasn’t expecting it was all.”

You were met with silence, the quiet air between you both making your skin crawl with an uneasy feeling, fingers wrapping around one another tighter.

“You’re one of the men from…across the street, right?” You finally blinked, his gaze becoming too much and you looked away, deciding that the ground was much more interesting now. He shifted his stance, arms crossing over his chest. His biceps bulged out a bit, the sleeves of his shirt tightening around the muscles.

“I am.”

You felt an odd sense of satisfaction knowing that someone else out there was just as bad at conversation as you were. The thought almost made your lips twitch into a smile, but you stopped it before it grew any wider.

The breeze picked up again, cutting through the stillness in the Spring air. Your hair swayed behind you, dress fanning out even as you pressed your palms down against your thighs to keep it from flying upwards. The longer you stood there in the quiet, the longer that familiar blade of anxiety cut through your sternum and dug deep into your chest. You felt sick.

His boots drug across the dirt when he uncrossed his arms, “S’pose I should ask your name?”

“It’s…um…” You stuttered out, eyes flitting from the ground, up to him, then back down. Why was talking such an impossible task, something so menial?

“Make it easier if I told ya mine first?” Your hand came up, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear while you nodded, looking up at him from under your lashes just the tiniest bit.

“Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

Even through the mask, you could see the way his eyebrow rose in a quizzical manner underneath.

“Got a problem with it?” You thought perhaps this was his way of sounding sarcastic. You let out a faint huff and shook your head in response.

“Good. Your turn then.”

You uttered your name to him, quiet, yet loud enough for him and the ensemble of flowers and butterflies around you to hear.

“But…most people call me Scarlet.”

There it was again—that same curious glint in his eyes from before when you questioned his own name.

“It’s a butterfly,” and as you spoke you turned. Distantly, you could hear him take a step towards you. However, you simply bent over, grabbing a hold of a book that sat on top of a larger stack of books. When you faced him again, you were already opening it to a page that was familiar to you. Of course, you had turned to this specific page numerous times before.

There was a large picture at the top of the left page with a black butterfly sitting front and center, and a few paragraphs of information listed underneath. Closest to the body and on the edges of the hindwings were sections of scarlet. You point to the image, his attention moving from you to the book.

“They’re called Scarlet Mormons. I’ve always…liked butterflies and moths, but they’re my favorite…” Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you explain your favoritism for the species. In your mind, you sound like a child, so any scrutiny he decides to throw at you, you feel you deserve. And as he opens his mouth, you prepare yourself for the worst.

“They’re beautiful.”

Your apprehension becomes a distant memory at the sound of his voice and the words that fall from his lips, a word that sounds taboo coming from a sinister-looking man like him. Is a man like Ghost allowed to say such a word? Does he even know what it means?

You don’t take him for an idiot. Of course, he knows what it means, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest cavity, begging to burst from the space between your ribs.

“Why are you here…Ghost?” The question comes out hesitantly as you seek a change in subject. You don’t notice the way his eyes flick to your lips when you enunciate the syllables of his callsign, the way he tracks your hands when you close the book and press it to your chest.

When you do finally look back towards him, you can see him pondering something. The gears in his mind are working double time, and you don’t think you’ll even get a proper response. There’s a hundred possibilities as to why he’s here. You think maybe he works for your husband, cozying up to you to earn your trust and tell your husband all of your whereabouts and what you do while he’s gone. Perhaps he is an enemy of your husbands and you’ve made a terrible mistake, your ignorance once again clouding your judgment. 

That same fissure begins to open up below you, threatening to pull you under. You’ll be blamed, and this time the mistake will be your fault. Your husband will take the last bits of happiness you have: your garden, books, the sunlight.

And it’s like Ghost sees this void underneath you, the foreboding tendrils of your husband dragging you into the furthest depths of Hell when he whispers out, “Think you’ve been pulled into this war enough. That’s a secret for another time.”

[wishfuldivine]

Gaz feeling like an outsider after Soap's death?

Gaz was never a man to open up about his inner wounds. He was such a private and prideful person about his feelings, achievements and his family.

His emotions were always in check. Never letting the pressure of the battlefield and near death experiences detoriate his strong spirit and mind. And if he did, he would bounce back quicker than a cheetah. That was, until that unfortunate day when everything went to complete shit.

Soap was gone.

His best mate was absolutely gone. And it was insufferable to go on like this without him around. The Scottish lad's absence is very evident in not only the 141 but also the entire base. A rather quiet and gloomy atmosphere surrounding it. Staff and soldiers filled with heavy hearts as they knew the need to continue on was a must.

The ones not really doing well apart from Gaz were both Price and Ghost. The lieutenant had completely shut down once back from that painful mission. Ever the collected and serious person, broken down. He wouldn't look at anyone in the eye. Would avoid ever interacting with people unless it was about a mission or being fussed over by Gaz. He wouldn't come out of his room back at the private barracks. And at times, when Ghost didn't know that Gaz had gone out for a late walk, how did his heartwrenching sobs be heard.

Price wasn't faring very well either. But he had some composure as the captain of the Task Force. He tried and tried many times again to keep everything as minimum as possible.  But who was he kidding? Everything was too much for him. It went as far as blaming himself for the death of Soap. They had Makarov in their hands, and he practically let him slip away through his fingers. His stupidity led to the death of someone very dearly. It cost him a lot more than he can bargain. There would be days when he was consumed by his paperwork in an effort to distract himself from the cruel reality that one of his own is forever gone.

And Gaz? Gaz had noticed how he, himself, entered a state of inner turmoil. On one end, he tried to come into terms with the huge loss. Trying to help Ghost and Price like a mother hen by being there for them in the best way he could. Always the selfless one out of the team. But on the other, he felt like he was bending over backward and was at his wits' end.

He wished he knew how long this would continue. How far more will he be in this mixture of feelings that left him in complete distraught. And what made matters far worse is that neither Price nor Ghost noticed, and he had begun to question his importance.

[dovabunny]

(Ghost)Soap AU Concept - His Hair

Cw: angst, minor character death mention, miscommunication. Inspired by Wine and Wheat by Noel_o on Ao3

Soap looks down at his trembling hand holding the electric razor, the buzz not drowning out the words echoing in his mind.

"You're not even a little embarrassed?" "No one will take you seriously looking like that." "It looks ridiculous!" "Did you really think-"

He lifts it to his head.

...

The night started with Soap in high spirits. He was proud of the latest mission - his new self-made bombs saved the day and maybe he was feeling a little cocky.

Which is usually nothing new or problematic when surrounded by his closest friends - Ghost, Gaz, Price, Rudy and Ale.

🧼: tellin ye, Cap', I deserve some chest candy for my ingenuity! Might just have rewritten the military demolitions handbook today.

Price just rolls his eyes.

That's when it started.

🧢: No offense, mate. But you show up at HQ with that hair, no one will take you seriously.

Ale choked on his beer, Rudy tried to hide a smile. "Dios mio, so it's not just us who thinks it looks ridiculous?" Ale looked to Price. "How is that allowed?"

💰: We're not sticklers for regulation in the 141 - but maybe we'll have to make an exception this time.

They all laughed and agreed.

Soap didn't. He felt his throat close and had to remind himself that they're just teasing, they don't mean it.

Rudy, sweet, kind Rudy gave his 5 cents next. "You're brilliant with bombs, friend, but really - you look in the mirror and decide that's your style? Not even a little embarrassed?"

Soap swallowed thick.

This isn't new. He's been mercilessly teased about his mowhak for that last 15 years. Till he joined the 141. He'd thought he was finally past shallow insults.

His ma had told him she loves it, three weeks before she lost her long battle, her own hair having fallen out months before. So he kept it.

He tried to deflect, be the usual fun, bubbly Soap they used to respond well to.

🧼: ah c'mon, ye are all just jealous ye can't touch my destructive talents!

Then the killing blow struck.

Ghost, the only man he's ever truly wanted, whose opinion mattered more than anything else.

Ghost chuckled, shoulders shaking with it as he shook his head. Surely he wouldn't-

💀: They're not wrong. You look like a 80s punk band reject, Soap.

'Soap'. Not Johnny. Ghost cares about Johnny, not Soap. He hopes...

💀: C'mon Johnny, you didn't really think it's a style that demands respect.

The agreeing laughter around the table didn't feel friendly, it felt cruel.

Was he really a laughing stock to them? Did they talk like this behind his back too? Was he just a joke they kept around cause he was good at blowing shit up.

They never even cared to ask why he had it.

He gave a rough brittle laugh, kept his head down, and made a half-assed excuse of needing to piss. Keeping his face turned away he rushed to the bathroom, he knows he's not strong enough to face the teasing if they see the tears in his eyes.

He climbs out the window and leaves.

No one texts or calls to check in him on the way back, walking instead of taking a taxi, hoping to clear his head. It didn't help. His ma always called him her gentle boy, said his heart was good and to protect it.

She was right about that. But turns out, wrong about his hair.

He can't fix what he's like on the inside. It stays broken no matter how he tried.

But he can fix what he's like on the outside. Make him look fixed, at least.

He picks up the electric razor he kept for the sides of his head. Ghost usually shaved it for him. He always teased that he was gonna shave it all...

A lock of hair falls.

[screamingoverfiction]

Birdie

I don't really know what this is. Basically, my 3am fever dreams, fluff, filthy smut, descriptions of gore, and a whole lot of angst. Reader discretion is heavily advised. Canon Typical Violence. Ghost (mw2) x !f-reader, callsign Sparrow. I'm going to start working on some requests after this!

Word Count: 3.3k

She could see nothing but black. The cloth around her eyes prevented her vision. Her hands were bound behind her with a rope that dug into her wrists. Her legs were tied to the metal chair she was strapped to.

All she could hear was the faint buzz of an old lamp and the light dripping water.

Her throat was dry and screaming for water. Her lungs felt like someone lit them on fire and then stomped it out repeatedly. Her chest struggled for every breath, her body forcing itself to breathe, to stay alive.

She heard a metal door creak open, then slam shut. Heavy footsteps came closer, and she pushed herself against the chair, craning her body away.

Someone harshly ripped her blindfold down her face, and a firm hand grabbed her cheeks, forcing her to look at them.

"So you're the little bitch who sniped five of my men," The man said, saliva flying from his lips and splattering on her face when he spoke.

He looked about 45, with dark hair, a greasy face, and a full mustache. His hair was greying in some places, and his features were powerful and intimidating.

She kept her chin high, refusing to let him scare her. She stared daggers into his eyes, mustering as much saliva as she could and spitting it directly in his face.

The man flinched, slowly wiping his face and looking at his hand before snapping his eyes back to hers.

Before she could even blink, his palm collided with her cheek, her face reeling to the side, blood spurting from her mouth.

"We know who you work for. Does Captain Jonathan Price sound familiar? Seargent John Mactavish? Sergeant Kyle Garrick? What about Lieutenant Simon Riley?" The man hissed, grabbing her face again, searching her eyes for any signs of recognization.

"Trained in resisting torture, eh? Well, you'll be spitting names at my feet when we're done with ya," He sneered, harshly releasing her cheeks and standing up, looking behind him at two men who'd just entered the dimly lit room.

She swallowed thickly, straightening her posture as much as she could, glaring maliciously at the men.

The dark-haired man stood at the front of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark with fury. He opened his mouth and said two final words before exiting the room.

"Break her,"

-

"Four down, I've got a shot on one more," Sparrow spoke into her radio, keeping her sniper aimed at the final man, awaiting her call.

"Take the shot," Ghost's stern voice said through the coms.

"Copy that, Lt." She replied with a smirk, taking a moment to realign her shot before her finger squeezed the trigger.

The man fell, and on his way down, he knocked over a bunch of barrels, creating a loud ruckus.

Sparrow's eyes went wide, and she immediately ducked under cover, trying to hide away from the men who'd surely start looking for a sniper.

"Fuck. He went down with a bang, Ghost," Sparrow whispered, anxiously waiting for her orders.

"Dammit, get out of there, and don't let them see youleave your sniper it'll only weigh you down," Ghost replied swiftly.

"Copy," Sparrow answered, unhooking her sniper and setting it off to the side, covering it with a black blanket.

She quickly unsheathed her pistol, moving through the small building with precision and stealth.

Her heart stopped when she heard footsteps coming from the exit. At least two men speaking in Russian, which was never a good sign.

She took a deep breath and waited for one to open the door, but suddenly, a third man jumped through the window beside her, knocking her pistol from her hands and kicking her in the chest.

Knowing that there was little she could do now except scream. So that's what she did. She screamed as loud as she could, hoping to alert Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, or anyone in the surrounding area.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME! HELP! SOMEONE HELP! FUCK YOU GET OFF ME!" She shouted, kicking and screaming, punching and spitting, fighting her captures as hard as she could until a she felt a syringe in her neck.

-

Ghost's ears immediately perked up at the sound of distant screams. Deep down, he hoped he was hearing things, but he knew right then that Sparrow had been caught.

The color drained from his face, and he jumped up, looking out over his cover to try spotting her, but the screams had gone quiet. His heart sank into his stomach. And he had to grip the concrete to keep himself from falling over. He couldn't think of anything but her and how he'd said to take the shot.

He felt like throwing up, but he knew he had to inform the team before he went out on his own to try and murder every single one of those men.

"T-They got Sparrow," He managed to stammer, surprising even himself at the rawness of his voice. His radio crackled, but no voice responded until a moment after.

"Is she KIA?" Price asked, maintaining a professional voice but inside, he was terrified.

"I don't know. I doubt they'd give up a chance at intel," Ghost responded, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Just- get back to extraction. We'll regroup there,"

-

Ghost wouldn't speak to anyone. He wouldn't sit, wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink. The only time he did anything was when he yelled at Price.

"Simon, we trying-"

"Then fucking try harder! It's been three fucking days, John! She's either dead or wishing she was, and what are you doing? Having a cup of fucking coffee and laughing with Laswell!" Ghost shouted, pointing at Price venomously. Behind his balaclava, his eyes were bloodshot and sleepless, showing the constant anxiety he'd been plagued with.

Price swallowed, clenching his jaw angrily.

"Get back to your courters, Riley," He demanded, knowing Ghost was only saying these things out of anger and fear.

Ghost walked past Price, slamming the door on his way out, the hinges rattling against the frame.

Soap was standing outside the room, seemingly aged ten years in three days. His eyes locked briefly with Ghost's as he furiously exited the room.

Ghost didn't stop as he strode through the base and down the hallway toward his room. His mind raced with anger toward Price and sickening guilt. He knew he shouldn't have told her to shoot.

He reached his room in a flurry of madness, throwing open the door and almost breaking the wood as it crashed shut.

He grabbed the first thing he saw, an old water cup on his dresser, and threw it against the wall, the glass shattering into millions of pieces.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. He was suffocating behind the mask. His lungs were in a cramped and ever-shrinking dark room, clawing the air from his body.

He reached up and ripped the mask off, throwing it down to the floor and sinking to his knees, hands covering his face as he resisted the urge to scream.

He'd called her little bird, or when it was just the two of them, his little bird. She was the one he'd go to when the words he kept inside continued to feast on his thoughts until he couldn't take it anymore.

There was a warm, soft spot in his cold heart specially reserved for her. She somehow managed to weasel her way past all his coldness and closed-off nature. He still didn't quite know how. Her smile, her laugh, the way she'd roll her eyes when he'd crack one of his infamous dark jokes.

She'd earned her nickname because of her tendencies to chirp and how she could snipe without ever being noticed, well, mostly. She was a dreamer, a singer, a Sparrow, and she was always optimistic unless you tried to speak to her before 8am.

There was never a dull day when she was around. Maybe that's why Ghost has only seen in grey since she's been gone.

His hands shook against his face, and the urge to claw his eyes out was immense. He wanted to take his pistol and aim it in his mouth, but the chance that she was still alive was what fueled his fury.

He needed to save her, even if it killed him.

-

Blood trickled down her hands, dripping from her fingertips and splattering into the pool on the floor.

She'd lost track of the days. Nothing mattered anymore. If she could will herself to die, she would.

The one thing that kept her sane was him. His crooked smirk and those pretty brown eyes. God, how she would die for those eyes.

Keeping sane throughout the hours of unendurable torture was agonizing. But she would replay their memories in her mind, trying to ignore the hot burning rods they kept prying into her chest.

When he'd taken off his mask in front of her.

It was late at night, and everyone else on base was fast asleep or desperately counting sheep in an attempt to.

Sparrow couldn't sleep, nightmares plagued her dreams, and she was afraid to close her eyes. So she lay there awake, thinking about him, of course.

Almost as if on cue, there was a knocking at her door. A small smile twitched on her lips, and she sat up, pulling her covers off and hurriedly walking to her door.

She took a deep breath before turning the knob, her smile widening when she saw Ghost standing outside.

He wore a simple balaclava, a dark t-shirt that exposed his muscular, tattooed arms, and grey sweatpants.

"Couldn't sleep?" She teased, opening the door wider and letting him walk inside.

"Well, looks like you couldn't either since you were eagerly awaiting my knock," Ghost replied, his eyes scanning the familiar space.

"Ha-ha, very funny," She sneered, quietly closing the door and turning around to face him.

When she faced him, she nearly jumped back in shock, her eyes growing wider.

There he stood, maskless, those tired brown eyes looking into hers, a subtle fear behind them. His hair was short darkish blond, and his face bore powerful handsome features. Scars littered his skin, but it didn't matter, he was the most beautiful thing in the world, and it scared her.

Sparrow's hands quickly came up to cover her eyes. Her mind couldn't process what was happening. He couldn't have just shown his face. It would make it all too real.

"Sparrow," Ghost said, reaching out and trying to pull her hands away, but she just shook her head.

"Sparrow," He tried again, voice growing softer. His hands traveled to her forearms, fingers grazing along the skin.

"Y/n," He whispered, finally making her lower her hands. Her eyes locked with his once again.

"I thought you didn't want this to be real," She asked, reaching up, cupping his face in her hand, thumb brushing over his cheek.

"Guess I lied," He replied smoothly, leaning down and softly pressing his lips to hers.

If you'd looked at the two of them in private, you wouldn't believe they'd never kissed. Never slept together. But they hadn't, neither one wanted anything real, and the proposition of 'just for fun' didn't sound appealing.

Sparrow kissed him back, keeping her hands on his face. His lips were soft and rough at the same time. He tasted like minty toothpaste and tea. His hands trailed down her waist, securing themselves around her hips.

Their kiss was full of yearning and passion. They were making up for all the lost moments.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," Ghost groaned against her lips, snaking his hands on the backs of her thighs and hoisting her up.

Sparrow wrapped her legs around him, locking her ankles. She didn't break away from his lips, drunk on his lips.

Ghost carried her toward the bed, placing her down on the mattress and hovering over her, lips still hungrily kissing hers.

His hands traveled beneath her shirt, hesitating.

"Take it off," She breathed lustfully against his lips, her hands grazing over his clothed abdomen.

Ghost practically ripped her shirt off, his lips leaving hers to give attention to her newly exposed breasts, lips attaching to her sensitive nipple.

"Oh, fuck, Ghost-" Sparrow started to groan, but Ghost quickly cut her off

"That's not my name, birdie," He murmured, raising his lips and kissing the skin below her ear, causing a soft whimper to escape her lips.

"Simon," She whispered, reaching up and lacing her fingers in his short blond locks, gasping from the hickeys he marked on her collarbone.

Simon hummed devilishly, smirking against her skin and scattering even more love bites.

"Atta' girl," He said lowly, taking the hem of his shirt in one hand and swiftly pulling it over his head.

Y/n almost drooled at the sight of his toned muscles, prominent v-line, scars from battle littering his skin, and a faint happy trail leading down to the place her core desperately desired.

Simon lowered his body, hooking his fingers in her pants and pulling them down her legs, tossing them off the bed.

He wasted no time in doing the same with her panties, prying her legs back apart when they tried to snap shut out of embarrassment.

"Ah, ah, I wanna see my pretty little bird's cunt splayed out for me," He said darkly, dropping his mouth to her clit, tongue sliding inside her entrance.

Y/n had to clasp her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in pleasure, her legs wrapping around his neck while he ravenously devoured her.

Simon held his hands on her thighs, keeping them spread as he continued working his tongue inside and outside her core, hitting the perfect nerves every time.

Waves of euphoria washed through her in swarms, her eyes rolling into her skull from the pure ecstasy that radiated through her body.

"Oh fuck, Simon, I'm gonna-" She started, but her sentence was cut off when he flicked his tongue, making her gasp.

"That's it, Y/n, cum on my tongue. I want to taste you," He breathed, working his mouth against her clit until her legs shook around his neck, and she cried out. Her orgasm coursed through her like a tsunami of bliss. Her eyes rolled, and she arched further into him, whimpering at the overstimulation.

Simon greedily lapped up her liquids like he was starved, only pulling away to raise his body over hers, crashing their lips back together.

"Fucking hell," He murmured, eagerly kissing her deeper.

Y/n hurriedly reached for his pants, her fingers hooking in the hemming and pulling them down his legs. His erection tented in his boxers, yearning to be touched.

Their lips met in another sloppy kiss, too caught up in the moment to care.

He quickly pulled his boxers off, groaning when the tip brushed against her already slick entrance.

"Simon," She whispered, her fingers tightly lacing in his blond hair, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Y/n," He replied in an equally quiet tone, slowly pushing himself inside.

The stretch was magnificent. She'd never fucked someone so big. The pain was soon replaced with redoubtable pleasure as he started to thrust.

Y/n nails dug into his shoulders, her moans of pure euphoria swallowed by Simon.

His arm moved upward, placing it beside her head to steady himself as he continued thrusting, hitting her g-spot with every steady himself.

"Oh fuck, it's like your cunt was made for me," Simon moaned, the guttural sound coming from the back of his throat, snapping his hips against hers, the sounds of slapping skin echoing throughout the room.

Her back arched into him, their chest pressing together as she became a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him.

"Fuck, you make such pretty noises. I'm gonna ruin you," He groaned, grasping one of her legs and hoisting it over his shoulder, deepening t the angle of his thrusts.

Soon enough, that familiar coil welled up inside her core once again, heightening her moans.

"Simon, fuck! Don't stop, please don't stop," She begged, whimpering below him, tears of pleasure rolling down her cheeks.

Simon groaned as her walls clenched around his cock, her orgasm spasming through her even more intense than the first time. He came not long after, her cunt squeezing around him, milking his cock dry.

She cried out as the waves overcame her, back arching into him, nails dragging down his shoulders and back, certainly leaving marks.

In the moments after their highs, not much was said nor done, just quick rapid breaths, trying to regain themselves, and short kisses, still chasing the flavor of the other.

Simon carefully pulled away, reaching over the side of her bed to collect their clothing, pulling his boxers on before helping her into his shirt.

After Y/n had successfully reclothed herself and gone to the bathroom(Simon carried her), she collapsed back onto her bed, sighing tiredly and closing her eyes.

When she didn't feel or hear Simon next to her, she opened an eye to find him simply admiring.

"You coming?"

He said nothing more as he slid under the covers next to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her warmly.

"Is this real?" He whispered against her lips, protectively holding her as though she might slip away at any given moment.

"It is,"

Simon smiled.

Y/n sighed comfortingly against his lips, resting her forehead against his as she closed her tired eyes, awaiting the sweet kiss of sleep.

-

Her eyes were forced open by a blinding light- a flashlight. Well, that was new. Maybe they were going to do some sort of light torture next.

Her eyes tried to adjust to the new light, craning her head back instinctively when the figure walked over-no they were running-sprinting. That can't be good.

She whimpered in pain when they gently touched her face, and their hand immediately retreated back.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the light, just in time for her ears to start picking up noise as well. She heard the sound of a knife against a rope, and then she saw him.

An immense feeling of relief washed over her body at the sight of the masked man cutting her free. Tears welled in her eyes, and she started to cry.

He wore his hard shell skull mask and tactical gear, yet he worked so tenderly against her bonds.

When her limbs were finally free, she collapsed forward, but he caught her, wrapping his arms around her figure and lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

Tears of solace streamed down her cheeks. Sobbing into his chest, she did her best to hug him in her weak state, which probably looked and felt pretty pathetic.

"I know, birdie. It's alright now. I've got you," He whispered, his voice lulling her back into an exhausted sleep, despite the desperate, muffled voices she continued to hear.

-

Beeping, lots and lots of beeping. Hospital. Medic. Torture. Injuries. Soap. Ghost. Someone's hand was in hers. Simon. Twitch.

Simon's eyes opened at the slight movement of her hand. Then her fingers curled upwards until they locked with his.

Her eyes slowly and groggily opened, still glossy and hazed with sleep, but Simon could still see relief wash over her.

"Simon?" She whispered, voice raspy and breaking from screaming out in pain.

"Hey there, birdie," He said back, a small smile twitching on his lips, his eyes red from not sleeping.

"Is this real?" She questioned, blinking at him as if he might disappear, her hand tightening its grip on his.

Simon smiled again, standing up and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, brushing her hair back.

"It's real,"

Y/n smiled.

I love you all and I hope you enjoyed! <3

[aforestescape]

demisexual!simon ‘ghost’ riley

continuation of this blurb

simon knows about his feelings for you now. how much deeper than he’d previously realized they ran. and how on earth could he possibly have missed you infusing yourself into his life like that? into his very fucking being. now that he’s looking back it feels obvious. after knowing each other for so long he’s realized at a certain point his feelings for you shifted.

not just that gentle affection, that gentle want for you to be safe. for you to be happy, and grow, and seek him out as a friend. as family does. but it expanded between the seasons that past. into wanting you to be safe with him. a want, a need to hold you close in his arms and breathe. he wants to be happy with you. grow with you, not just apart from each other like two separate beings. wants to morph and collide against each other until there’s a blend of you and him and us.

his wants don’t stop him from retreating though. from shutting you and the world and simon out. he knows now but batted the knowledge away. he keeps it locked away in a pretty box, with a delicate key that could break if turned even a bit too tight. in some foreign closet of his mind that hasn’t seen use in years.

simon wants you but ghost? ghost has seen too much, done too much. ghost doesn’t get attached, ghost doesn’t get a happy ending, doesn’t deserve one. but you do. you deserve the fucking world, you deserve the moon that you love so much. he’d gladly chase it for you. hunt it down across the night sky and make it bleed until it surrendered itself as a gift to you. ghost could do it for you.

but he can’t get over that hurdle. can’t get over his past and the years of anxiety, of depression, of stillness. of meltdowns and the days he’s sat stretched thin in his own silence. he can’t think of a future with you without seeing them. flashes of his family who he’s long lost. can’t imagine being happy again without them. can’t imagine being fully happy even if it’s with you.

loving you hurts.

part one. part three. part three.five

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Simon Angst hour?

Simon, who is the one to break soaps passing to his partner. They don't scream or cry right away, in fact they're just getting eerily quiet.

The kind of quiet Simon knows too well, so he decides to stay a week to make sure they are okay (as okay you can get after being told your s/o was Kia) but the week turns into a month.

It never gets beyond anything platonic, it's just simon trying his damn hardest to get them to at least go outside again. He doesn't fill the space Johnny left, he doesn't fit it, neither ghost nor Simon. He doesn't want to either.

Maybe it's his way of repenting for letting his sergeant get killed. A desperate try to chase away the new demons he found in that tunnel.

It isn't the image of Johnny's life less body that haunts him, it's the memories of soap, alive and well talking fondly about his partner back home.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺

✋😑

how dare you!!!1

[ponyosmom35]

I've got you

Simon ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter twenty!

Synopsis: reader is kidnapped and held hostage, 141 gets her back.

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of explosives, mentions of death

Liability masterlist:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

“Get her up! They’re here!” graves yells

She gasps as she’s awoken from her light sleep. She is gripped roughly and her ties were cut loose. One of the men haul her out of the room, dragging her as she stumbles. She cries out in pain as blood drips down her shoulder from arm. “Hurry up bitch” 

The doors are thrown open and she's is pulled into Grave's chest, she squints her eyes as the darkness settles in. A cool metal is placed against her head. She whimpers as he shoves her forward. She could feel the explosive device strapped to her chest activate with a beep and she begins to hyperventilate. Though she couldn’t see anyone in the darkness she knew that they’d come for her. Simon was out there, he was gonna save her. 

“Want you bitch back? Gonna have to come and get her” Graves sneers 

“Drop the gun” a familiar deep voice calls. Her stoamch twists as Ghost steps into the dim light from the street. His weapon pointed directly at Graves. She wanted nothing more than to see his eyes, wishing that he would bring take her out of here and never look back. 

“Not a chance”

“We’ve got you surrounded, let her go before I fucking kill you” he warns taking a step forward.

“You kill me and she goes with” he smirks pushing her forward, she stumbles and catches herself. Her shaking body nearly collapses, it takes everything in her not to fall. Knowing that it could set off the explosive. He takes a step closer to her and she panics. 

“Ghost stay back!” she screams shaking her head wildly.

“Deactivate it or I’ll have a sniper blow your head off” 

"you want her to live then you let me go, otherwise say bye bye"

“Fuck me” Ghost grumbles 

“Just go” she pleads as tears mixed with blood and sweat roll down her cheeks. 

“Negative” he responds lowering his gun and walking closer. 

“Stop!” she yells 

“This isn’t about her and you know it, this is between you and me” Ghost snaps “You don’t let her go and you’ll be next, but you’re death will be slow” 

“You and I both know that she isn’t making it out of here if I don’t” he smirks 

She winces at his words and holds her hand up to Simon as he stands no more than fix feet from her. “Please don’t do this Simon” she whispers for only him to hear

“I’ve got you love, keep your eyes on me okay?” he says lowly, she could tell that he was receiving instruction from his earpiece, she prayed that they didn't let him go just to save her. After what Graves did he deserved to die.

"set the control on the ground and walk away" Ghost says after a few seconds

"and how do I know you won't shoot me when I turn?"

"you have my word Graves, still means something"

"pleasure doing business with you" Graves says before setting the device on the ground. He turns and runs away, disappearing into the night. Soap moves over to the control and looks it over.

Simon quickly grabs her arm, pulling her to him. He drops his gun and holds onto her shaking hands.

“You’re okay sweetheart” he says observing her trembling form. Her hair was falling out of the pretty braid she had it in, parts of it sticking to her face. She had blood on her cheek and even more on her arm. “Get it off” she begs 

“Okay love, I need you to keep your body still, do not move a muscle, can you do that for me?” he asks 

“O-okay” she chokes out

“Good girl” 

Simon pulls out the knife from his side and stares at the unit. He had been trained with explosives so he was well versed on how to disarm them. Her body trembles terribly and he takes off his glove, placing his bare hand on her cheek. “Look at me”

Her wide frantic eyes find his as her lips chatter. “I know exactly how to disarm this device. I need to cut this wire and then it’s over”

“Fuck” she curses 

“Keep your eyes on me love, good girl, you’re doing so well” he assures her. 

Simon cuts the wire, holding his breath. The blinking red device powers down and he sighs in relife. 

“You’re okay baby” he says taking off the vest carefully. He sets it on the ground and pulls her into his arms. She instantly falls into him, as sobs wrack through her body. 

“You did so good” he whispers in her ear “I’m proud of you” 

Simon wraps his arm around her and escorts her to the car. He helps her into the passenger seat and shuts the door gently. He walks over to soap and Gaz and shakes their hands. “How she doing?” soap asks 

“Shaken up, I’m gonna drive us separately, try to calm her down” 

“Copy” 

“Meet you back at base” 

Simon nods and gets into the drivers side. He starts the engine and notices her crying into her hands. He hesitates, unsure how to help her. He knew that she needed comfort, but that wasn’t his strong suit. He had no idea how to make the tears stop, he coudln’t even keep his own panic attacks in check. After a few seconds he places his hand in the center of her back, rubbing it gently. “I’m here love” 

Those three words made her look up at him, puffy red face and all. She smiles softly and sniffles, wiping her face. “I don’t know how to thank you Simon” 

“You never have to thank me” he says simply

next part:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401938585174016/youre-beautiful?source=share

[medicbrainrot]

until all your pieces are put back together

“Have I… done something to annoy you?” She asks hesitantly.

“What? No, you haven’t annoyed me. Where did you get that idea?” He asks, turning to face her.

“You’ve just been… really distant lately. And a lot quieter than usual… You don’t really laugh at my jokes anymore…” She says softly.

“It’s nothing, love. I’ve just been tired and stressed.” He says, sighing as he crosses his arms, staring out the window, watching the rain fall outside.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She asks. 

He looks at her for a moment, before looking down at the ground, speaking in a small voice uncharacteristic for him. “A hug…?” He says awkwardly, almost as if he’s embarrassed to ask.

“I can do that.” She smiles as she steps forward and wraps her arms around him tightly.

“Thank you.” He rasps, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “You really are the sweetest.” He says, gently placing a hand on the back of her head as he wraps his other arm around her back. He squeezed her softly, letting the hug linger long enough for them to comfort each other.

She holds him tightly, pressing herself against him in an attempt to show how much she cares.

“You have no idea how much I needed this.” He says softly. “No idea how much I appreciate this right now.” He mutters, pulling her closer to him, resting his cheek on her head, inhaling the soft scent of her hair. “Thank you.”

“I will hold you for as long as it takes for you to feel okay.” She whispers softly.

They stand still for several moments, just enjoying each other’s comfort. 

He closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of holding her, letting out a deep breath as he starts to relax in her embrace.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated!

Masterlist

[kippercapser]

i refuse to believe that this man doesn't like hello kitty.