#thyh

[spectres-n-soap]

All The Things I've Said - Ghost x Reader x Soap

Content Warnings - Pregnancy, pregnancy complications, c-section mentioned, therapy, fem afab reader

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A/N - one of seven done.

You tap your foot against the linoleum of the hospital floor as you pick at the skin beside your fingernails. You ignore the weight of Simon’s stare as he watches you fidget. From the moment you had gotten the appointment reminder late yesterday you had been anxious.

He had been able to keep you sitting for long because suddenly you wanted to clean the entire nursery and bathroom again. He had only conceded when you promised not to use any chemicals. The waiting room chair was beyond uncomfortable although everything was uncomfortable this late into the pregnancy. 

It was like the first trimester had come back to haunt you. Nausea, hot flashes and being overly emotional at everything. You had nearly broken down into tears when one of those dog adoption commercials came on this morning. You were in the last stretch of your pregnancy or that's what you told yourself to keep going. Therapy at least has been helping untangle some of the emotions you’ve been tangled in since… since Johnny passed.

The thought was still sour in your mind, it still twists the knife in your heart whenever you think about it but it’s lessened just a little. A nurse pops out from the door and calls your name, Simon helps you get up from the chair. A new development, someone having to help you stand after you’ve sunk into a chair or the couch. You follow the nurse and pass posters on the wall filled with facts and warnings about babies and pregnancy. As well as ones about adoption.

You looked at the pamphlet the on base doctor had given you. A mother is holding a baby as it sleeps against her chest. In big letters the word ‘Adoption’ is pasted onto the cover. “Just for your consideration.” The doctor said when she handed it to you. You rested a hand on your stomach, not even big enough to be noticable and the baby wasn’t big enough to kick yet. But the thought that they were in there, Johnny’s last gift to you, was enough for you to seek it out constantly. You opened the pamphlet and flipped through the pages but the longer you looked through it, the worse that feeling in your gut got.

The ultrasound technician rolls in the machine and rubs the gel over your stomach, even now you aren’t used to the coldness of it. She’s able to find the baby easily and looks for things you don’t know to look for. The only thing you notice is that they’re still sideways and rather big. That explains the rib pain at least. The doctor walks in only a few moments later and looks at the ultrasound with the technician and nods when she points something out. “Well, your baby is still very healthy.” The doctor smiles and some worry lessens. “But they are very big.”

“I noticed.” You say as you look behind them at the big baby in your body. They’re moving slightly and you can feel the echoes of it in you. It seems like they’re dreaming.

“Is that concerning?” Simon asks which brings you back to focus on the doctor.

“Not necessarily but with their position,” Doctor takes a pause and waits for you to reach your own conclusion, when you don’t answer he continues, “I’m recommending you to seek out a c-section for delivery.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. It's not like you had some kind of complex about natural or c-section births but you’ve heard the recovery process is hell. Cut open and expected to be walking the next day, not even soldiers are expected to walk the next day when they get shot in the leg. “I’ll consider it.”

You sit on the couch in the therapists office. It smells different today, usually he stuck to a soft laundry smell. Nothing abrasive or really notable, just fresh laundry. Today it was vanilla, almost too much. Like you had stuck a vanilla bean up your nose or the extract had gone up your nose. On the verge of too much. “How was the doctor appointment yesterday?” Dr. Miller asks.

You blink and furrow your brows at the question. “It was fine.”

“Anything new?” You purse your lips, thin them into a straight line. You know therapists are meant to do this, reword a question until they find the right combination of words that would get you to spill whatever happened. Still, that doesn't mean you like it.

“The doctor said the baby was big.” You say and rub some of the fabric of your shirt between your thumb and index finger. “He said that I should consider a c-section since the baby isn’t in the proper position and they’re so big.” You add on, knowing he would only press for the reason. Although gently.

“And are you considering it?” He asks, his eyes flicker to your fidgetting and you stop, now that you’ve been caught.

“I don’t really have a choice but to consider it.”

Dr. Miller hums, “And how does that make you feel?”

Out of control. Like your choices are being stripped away faster than you can handle. You can’t choose who you want to support you, you can’t choose your birth method, you can’t choose to go back to field duty after the baby is born, you can’t you can’t you can’t- “Upset.”

“Have you updated Mrs. MacTavish on this?” Dr. Miller asks and you shake your head. Of course you haven’t. You haven’t sent her text or anything to update the grandmother of your baby about anything. “I think you should consider it.”

You stand outside of the therapist office and stare at your phone with her contact pulled up. Your thumb overs it for a moment and you bite the inside of your cheek before forcing your thumb to press the call button. You press the phone to your ear as it rings and feel your heart try to claw up your throat when she answers.

“Mrs. MacTavish?” You whisper, anxiety doing barrel rolls in your stomach.

“Oh!” She says your name, so fondly it nearly breaks you right then. “I’m glad you’re calling.”

“Um, I have an update on the baby.” You tell her about the size of the baby to which she comments about Johnny being a wee big and being a difficult birth. You say that the baby still hasn’t moved into a proper position yet and that because of those two factors, “I’m probably gonna need a c-section.”

“Oh lassie.” She says, her voice filled with sympathy, “Winnie had tae have a c-section fer all three boys of hers. I’ll give ye her number, she can probably give ye advice fer when it happens.” There’s a pause before she asks, “Do ye wannae meet fer some tea?” 

You bite your lip before nodding and saying, “That’d be lovely Mrs. MacTavish.”

[irohcards]

Thyh Cards Live Again. Please Support!

So. Unfortunately, the @ThyhSilverfeet was taken down by Ko-Fi and was forced to remove a few cards from the Series 2 collection. Dragonite, Slazzle, and Houndoom will be replaced in time, but please consider buying the current cards over here. Please: https://ko-fi.com/s/0464c6a914

Posted using PostyBirb

[thaynthyn]

"A janela do meu quarto tem uma vista para o jardim de inverno, uma visão diferente da realidade. Baseada na realidade. Esse processo me lembra o do prisma. Autrora vidro canelado, e agora? Como se chama esse? Eu não sei, apenas sei que ele possui uma transparência ilusória, digo ele é um filtro da realidade." THYH

[charathon]

3/11/2017

Chance’s Noire

// Art by Thyh

[hestolibrary]

The Shirt You Hate by isthatyoularry

 “Soph,” Louis says to his female executive assistant. “I’m making more money than ever, and I have just realised that I have no one to spend it on.”

At thirty years old, Louis is past halfway to becoming a billionaire, and he needs to find the one. He literally stumbles upon his university sweetheart.

Getting back together AU

Words: 15,892 Relationships: Harry+Louis, Liam+Sophia Additional Characters: Niall Horan Published: 01. January 2016

LINK

[spectres-n-soap]

Times Long Since Past - Soap x You x Ghost

Content Warnings - Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, therapy, pregnancy

A/N - Not gonna lie when I say I nearly cried writing this part.

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The therapy office was located in a strip mall that had obviously once been a 1950s era housing estate in the past. You glance around the parking lot before Simon places a hand on your shoulder and pulls you from whatever pit you were trying to sink into. “Don’t stress.” He mutters and you roll your eyes.

“When in the history of the world did that ever make someone not stress?” You ask and he shakes his head but you can see his eyes crinkle just slightly. You sigh and look at the general area where the office was as your hand rests on your stomach. “Do you really think this will help?”

Simon nods, “It helps.” You sigh again before you nod and begin walking towards the office. A bell jingles over the door when you enter the office, Simon not far behind you and keeps the door open for you so it doesn’t bang into you. The receptionist smiles at you, a well practiced kind smile as she gestures for you to come forward. The waiting room was comfortable, only one other person sat in one of the chairs mindlessly flipping through the magazines. 

“Name?” The woman asks and you try not to let the happiness in her voice grate on your soul. Would you be happy like her again? You give her your name and she nods as she types it into the computer, “Date of birth?” You mindlessly rattle it off and give her the time of your appointment (in fifteen minutes) and she smiles at you, “Alright, if you could fill out these forms,” She passes the forms on a clipboard with a pen. “And take a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

You waddle over to the nearest seat and sit down before you start to fill out the form. Its basic questions and you recognize them all from your psych evals in the military. You bite your cheek before you begin to fill them out truthfully. When you finish, you hand the clipboard back to the receptionist and sit back down. 

The therapist is nice. Clinically nice. You want to scream and rage as he calmly asks questions about what brought you here. His voice is perfectly level and you can’t even use it as an excuse for the reason you think he’s judging you. “It's not my job to judge, it's my job to help.” He says when you hesitate to answer.

“I lost someone very close to me.” You answer, picking over the words carefully because you and Johnny hadn’t put a label on it before he had died. Your stomach lurches at that sudden thought and you squeeze your hands into fists. 

“I see. Was this person the father of your child?” He asks and you nod tightly. The thought still leaves an awful taste in your mouth.

“He died in action.” You take in a shaky breath, “He didn’t even know.”

“Let's start there. If at any moment you feel uncomfortable we can stop this session.”

You leave not feeling better or worse but like a small weight had been lifted from your chest. As you walk back out into the waiting room with the therapist, talking about the date of your next appointment you see Simon. You freeze, having totally forgotten he had promised to wait for you the entire time. He inclines his head at you and you're brought crashing back into reality. 

You climb into his car and as he turns it on he offers to buy some lunch. “Got any cravings?”

“I’m pregnant. Of course I have cravings.” You grumble, “Mexican food. From this little hole in the wall place.” He hands you his phone, which is all kinds of busted up but the screen still works so he hasn’t replaced it yet, for you to type the address into.

You take a seat at one of the outside tables and a young man hands you both a small menu. The smell from inside the restaurant makes your stomach rumble and apparently the baby is into the smell too because they kick at your stomach. Hard.

You wince and bow your head a little as you hiss out a “ Fuck. ” You don’t see the way panic shoots through Simon but you feel his hand grab yours. You don’t pull away.

“Are you okay? Are you in pain?” He asks and you shake your head.

“The baby just decided to do some kickboxing, no big deal.” You let out a tight laugh that hardly seems to convince Simon. “Simon, I’ll tell you if it hurts okay? Promise.” Those words seem to put at ease and the arrival of your waiter draws attention from the way his ears turn pink.

Lunch is quiet between the two of you after that moment partially helped by the way you sort of shovel the food into your mouth. You can’t help the small moan that leaves you as you bite into enchilada and Simon coughs on the sweet soda he had been drinking.

You and Simon arrive back at your flat, takeout box in hand because your eyes were bigger than your stomach and you had ordered another enchilada and he places it in your fridge as you settle down onto the couch. Exhaustion pulls at you despite the good sleep you had gotten last night and you hardly notice when Simon places the throw blanket on your lap.

“You know… you still have some gifts to open.” Simon mutters and you look at him with bleary eyes and make a noise of confusion before you look at what he has in his hands. The gifts from the MacTavish family. Your stomach sinks and your throat closes up at the sight. You sniffle but reach for one of the soft green green eyes.

Inside the first one is a little soft green dinosaur onesie and a few baby books. One of the books has a couple of lullabies and nursery rhymes. The other is easy recipes to make during the first couple months with the baby. More onesies in the next one, soft blues, pinks and yellows, a teddy bear and a card with a heartfelt message from his sisters. Of course a few items such as a milk pump and a diaper bag are already filled to the brim with items.

Just as you think you’ve finished opening everything, Simon hands you a card and one more bag. “The cards from Mrs. MacTavish, the bag is from me.” He clarifies although he really didn’t need to. The bag was a soft gray. You open his gift first and genuinely laugh when it's a onesie with little skulls. You shake your head at his gift before you set it to the side. You carefully pull the card from the envelope it was in and open it. A couple pictures fall onto your lap but you read the message first.

My bairn was a lot of trouble during those first few months. I hope yours doesn’t come with the same mischief for the sake of both of you. I know there is nothing I can say to ease the pain or the hole that Johnny left in you but you’re not alone. You’ve been given a beautiful gift whether he knew it or not. You’ll always have a piece of my wee boy and you’ll always be welcome in my home. I’ve made a few copies of pictures of when Johnny was a wee bairn for you. Welcome to the MacTavish family.

You glance down at the pictures, tears in your eyes as you look through them. You couldn’t help the small laugh that left you at one of the pictures. Chubby baby Johnny pouting in his chosen outfit but the others make tears fall from your eyes. You rub your thumb over one of the photos of him smiling up at the camera, chubby hands holding his foot up.

[spectres-n-soap]

A Spectre Remembers - Soap x You x Ghost

Content Warnings - Afab Reader, she/her pronouns are used in this chapter but no description of the reader is used, MW3 is canon :(, This is all Ghost POV this time, grief, religion mentioned,

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Ghost remembers the day you joined the task force, he could never forget it. You held yourself well, a woman that knew who she was and what she wanted. He watched you, that itch at the back of his head feeling like a rash now. It burned, begged to be eased and only got worse after the disaster that was Las Almas. The paranoia that haunted him from the day he pulled himself from the grave. Ghost watched the way you acted around others, when you trained and during debriefs. So when you started sitting closer to Soap, Ghost noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Soap touched you the way he did with him. Told the same awful jokes and dragged Ghost by the arm to hang out with you too.

"Oh." You had looked at Ghost, met his gaze before moving over to make room for him on the couch. "You should warn me next time Soap." You chastised him.

And that was it. You didn't receive him with open arms but you made room for him. Carved out a space for him alongside Johnny. Included him with the banter and he would have been a fool to think that the mission in Siberia hadn't changed something. Like something had clicked into place for you. He wasn't a fool. At least not completely because he had been there that night. Ghost stood in the dark hallway, on his way to get a drink of water and he heard you say it.

"I love you."

He had never retreated so fast back to his room since he was child. Not since he father roamed the halls of the house late at night, drunk, high and looking for any reason to unleash his anger.

Ghost remembers the day they returned without him. Without Johnny. His gloves were stained with blood, his hands trembled anytime they weren't holding something and his ears rang from that gunshot. His blood had turned into ice the moment he laid eyes on him. He had rushed over and pressed two fingers to his pulse, nothing but he kept checking. Over and over and over again. He couldn't hear anything, he looked down at Johnny and felt something twist, a knife in his heart. Two knives in his heart, they twisted and devastated him. He reached to feel for his pulse again but Price put a hand on his shoulder. When had they stopped the bombs?

"He's gone Simon."

And fuck if that didn't shatter him. He didn't cry, he wasn't sure if he could but his eyes stung and breathing became harder. Then he was staring at you, standing in the rain as Price spoke. "Soap is KIA." He couldn't look away from you. From the devastation that painted your features and he couldn't block away your pleas. He couldn't move to be the one who moved your hand from your throat.

"Captain." Your voice cracked, "Captain please." You buckled and he couldn't move to be the one who held you up. Ghost stood there as you cried into Gaz, sobbed until you gagged. Price had to be the one who finally broke him from his trance. He had laid awake that night, instead of being haunted by the usual demons he was haunted by you. By the way you had just collapsed, a woman who had carried herself with such strength that he was sure you'd never buckle under the weight of the sky if you had to trade places with Atlas.

You didn't come to the funeral they held for him in the highlands. He wanted to be angry. He really wanted to be and he stood outside your door ready to knock, ready to demand answers why you couldn't have been there for his final send off. For your Johnny's final send off. His hand was raised to knock when Gaz passed by him, "She's not in there mate. She's off giving Soap's family his ashes."

Ghost didn't stay around the base that night. At least Price had gotten everyone a few weeks of bereavement so he could leave when he needed to. And he really needed to right now. It hadn't been more than 8 hours and he was already back at the spot. Night had settled in and the highlands were alive with the sound of crickets, hooting owls and the rustle of grass.

Ghost was not a religious man. Never believed in a God that never stepped in to stop his father from beating his mum. Never stepped in to stop Tommy from getting hooked on drugs and never stepped in to stop them from being butchered. Ghost didn't know any prayers, he had accepted that God had abandoned him but he got on his knees anyways. He got on his knees, clasped his hands together and raised them to his forehead. And he begged. He begged God that night for answers, for direction, for a bloody reason.

Of course he got no answer. At least not at first. What was it that a woman once told him? "God works in mysterious ways." He had believed that to be a load of bloody rubbish.

Yet.

"The doctor thinks stress has put more risk with the pregnancy. Did something happen yesterday? Something upsetting Mr. Riley?" The nurse asked and to her credit, she didn't seem intimidated by him. Something upsetting? He had never seen you snap like that. He looked back to you, your eyebrows pinched together and his shoulders tense.

"Yeah, something like that." He muttered.

The nurse makes a noise at the back of her throat and tries to cover it up with a cough. Ghost doesn't blame her, he didn't exactly make it sound good. Left it vague. At least you hadn't hurt yourself. The thought sent shivers down his spine.

When he had received the call from the hospital that you had been admitted into their care, his blood ran cold. It felt like that day all over again, everything faded and his mind filled with assumptions. Each worse than the last.

You were hurt. The baby was hurt. Both of you were hurt. Someone broke in. Someone hurt you.

He had launched from bed after demanding the address before saying that he would be there in 20 minutes. He didn't care that it was a 40 minute drive, his car was any faster it would have been ten.

You don't look at him. You looked at the IV in your arm, at the tape that kept the IV in place and makes your skin itch, you looked at the walls covered in basic medical posters, you look at the blanket. Anywhere but him. Your name left his lips and you clenched your fists. "Please look at me." He asks, his voice on the edge of a crack. "Please.

[spectres-n-soap]

Yet the Rain Comes Anyway - Soap x Reader x Ghost

Content warnings - Death, dead body, grief, pregnancy, afab body, afab reader, angst, medical stuff, panic attack, MW3 is canon, I remind you again that SOAP IS DEAD

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A/N - My childhood cat is being put down this week so brace yourselves for the angst that will be unleashed from my heart when he passes.

You're tapping your foot against the tile floor rapidly. The unnatural smell of a sterilized hospital made the hairs on your arm stand up. Safe to say, you hate the hospital.

You stood in the morgue. It's strange, you had never been in one before. The lights were all turned on but there was no natural lighting to clear up the uneasy feeling you felt. You had asked for this, to see him before they turned him into ash. You could back out, the workers wouldn't judge you. Death wasn't an easy thing to stare down even if you work in a field where death is always right around the corner.

You steeled your resolve. You wanted to see him, you wanted to see your John just one more time. You nodded to the morgue worker and they opened the little cabinet. Was John ever afraid of tight spaces? They slide out the tray he was laid on and your entire body goes cold. He was pale, his wound patched up to the best of the morgue's ability and his eyes closed.

You remembered the way on TV the eyes would go glassy and gray. You're glad his eyes aren't open, you wanted his electric blue eyes filled to the brim with life and mischief to be the only version you know. "Oh John." You muttered as you traced the features of his face with your eyes. "I'm so sorry."

A nurse walks into the waiting room and calls out your last time. You try to stand, it's getting more and more difficult, you think bitterly to yourself. Still you swat away Simon's hand out of habit and stand up by yourself and toddle towards the nurse, hand on your stomach. The nurse glances at Simon, the look she has on her face obscured by the mask.

"He's with me, don't worry." You assure her and she begins to walk, leading the two of you to the hospital room where you'll likely spend the next hour or so. Bless her heart, your nurse, as she goes through the checklist of symptoms to make sure the pregnancy isn't going sideways. She keeps glancing at Simon in what you now understand is apprehension. You smack him and whisper, "Did you have to wear your balaclava?" You hiss.

"I was out of face masks." He replies swiftly. You lift up your shirt on instinct when the nurse moves to the ultrasound machine. This song and dance has been done more times then you would like but, you glance at your stomach and place a hand on it again, feeling the baby kick against you in response. It was for them.

The nurse spreads the gel across your stomach and uses her tool to show you them. The baby, Johnny's baby. "Their looking healthy Mum." The nurse says with what you assume is a smile. "Would you like to know their gender?"

"No." You swiftly respond and Simon glances at you. You didn't want to know if it would be a boy or a girl, it just felt like another weight on your shoulders.

"Alrighty." The nurse says, "Would you like a print out of the ultrasounds?"

"Yes." Simon replies for you and the nurse nods. She tells the both of you that the doctor will be in soon to discuss your labor plan. That comment gets another look from Simon, this time you return the look. The moment the nurse leaves the room, Simon is asking questions. "Why don't you have a birth plan yet?" At least he isn't asking why I don't want to know the gender, you think thankfully.

"I just, I lost track of time." You mutter. Between everything going on within the months of your pregnancy, trying to get out of bed each day. Trying to live with the fact that he isn't here and you're doing this alone.

Simon sighs your name and shakes his head, "Well, then we'll just start planning now."

You're sitting in his truck and looking at the contact for John's mum. She had given it to you, telling you to contact her if you need her. You've been staring at it for minutes, thumb hovering over the message option.

"Would you really come with me?"

Simon looks over at you for a second, "Of course, I promised I would." He says with no hesitation.

You look at the message option and press down on it and begin to type out of the message.

"I'm sorry I didn't get into contact with you sooner and I'm sorry this is the reason why I am. Your son and I slept together a few weeks before he was MIA. I'm pregnant by your son, I didn't sleep with anyone else so I promise this child is your grandchild. I'm 30 weeks pregnant and on leave if you want to meet up."

You turn your phone off, place it face down after sending the message and try to ignore the fast beating of your heart.

Your phone dings while you are sitting at the dining table picking at your dinner. Simon looks at you, raising his eyebrows when you don't pick it up to see the message. You ignore his looks and try to focus even harder on stabbing your mashed potatoes.

"You gonna see what she said?" He asks and you close your eyes.You place down your fork and hide your hands under the table before you lose control of your tremors. Silence hangs in the air until he speaks again, "Would you like me to see what she said?"

You think about his offer for a moment before you slowly let out a breath, "No. I'll do it." You look at your phone, almost wishing it would disappear, then you pick it up.

"Do you still have my address? Let me know if you don't, I'd like you to come here."

You say nothing and show Simon the text. "Do you still have her address?" You nod. "When do you want to go?" You shrug and keep your head down. You wish she hadn't been so vague? Is she going to yell at you? Tell you she doesn't believe you?

Simon rushes over to you when he sees your breathing start to pick up. He kneels next to you, "Can I hold you?" He whispers and you nodded frantically. He takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb over your knuckles as tears begin to drip down your cheeks.

"What if she hates me?" You asked and Simon shakes her head.

"She gave you her phone number, I'm sure she knew something about the relationship between you and Johnny."

You pick up your phone with shaky hands and send a single text.

"Tomorrow?"

She responds with a thumbs up emoji and you set the phone down, looking down at Simon who nods his head at you.

"Don't worry. I'll be with you the whole way." He reassures you and slowly lets go of your hand.

You laid in bed, limbs too heavy to move as you stared at the ceiling. It was odd to no longer have Soap visiting you at night just to share a bed for a few hours. You know he's in the morgue, cold and lifeless, yet you still wait to hear that knock on your door.

You blinked. "He's not going to knock." You said to yourself in the dark, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Yet you waited and waited until your closed your eyes too long. The grief counselor was unimpressed by your late showing and seemingly even less impressed by your clear lies that you were fine and handling the passing well.

Didn't help that you couldn't even look him in the eyes.

That night you stood in front of his barracks doors just staring at the door. I could go in. No one is here, it hasn't been reassigned yet. I could go in. For a moment, you thought you wouldn't. You took a step back but quickly moved forward and opened the door.

His shirts still hung in the closet, his bed still made to military standard. His desk was covered in a mixture of paperwork and doodles on stray pieces of paper. His second pair of boots sat next to the door. You slowly walked over to his closet and pressed a shirt to your nose.

It still smelt like him. Gunpowder and fresh rain with just a hint of his musk that told you he hadn't washed this shirt quiet yet. He is so weird. You thought to yourself. Why is his dirty shirt hung up?

You walked over to his bed and slowly laid down on it before you turned your head to inhale whatever smell was still on his pillow. It smelt like a generic mans brand you would buy at a dollar store but it was his smell nonetheless.

Your chest began to ache the longer you stayed in his room. The relief you sought here was nowhere to be found, it just felt like each second you stayed hollowed out your chest further. Still, you laid in his bed for hours.

[spectres-n-soap]

Hand in Hand

Content Warnings - afab and fem reader, pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort.

A/N - What I'm about to do in the next chapter will rip out my heart.

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His words echo in your head as you open the window. The smell of breakfast Simon is making wafts through the flat, its pleasant. Domestic in a way that twists the knife in your chest and shoves it deeper.

You close your eyes and take in a deep breath, the rain of early this morning fills your senses. You shut the window quickly, slam it closed as your eyes fill with tears. You lean your head with closed eyes against the glass, the coolness of it helps with the heat in your forehead. A few tears slip down your cheeks and you look at your stomach. Sometimes, as silly as it made you feel, you forgot you were pregnant. Its natural, second nature these days as you caress it and you immerse yourself into the fantasy that's been keeping you going.

Its his hand, warm and calloused, being gently placed onto your stomach where his baby resides. Johnny rests his chin on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek, everything is okay. "Yer doin' amazin' bonnie." He whispers into your ear. "Ye look amazin'." One hand wrapped around your waist and the other over your stomach, you lean back into his touch.

"Breakfast is ready." Simon calls out. You open your eyes as reality closes in. There's no one to lean into, Johnny is dead and he didn't even know. The same questions that you've been asking yourself since the very start echo through your mind. Frankly, you're getting quite tired of those questions.

How would have he reacted? Would he have married you? Would he have wanted to keep it at all? No, he would have wanted to keep the baby. This wonderful creation of both him and you. You swallow down the lump trying to form in your throat and waddle your way, because these days all you can do is waddle, to the dining table. You sit in silence as Simon fixes you a plate and then sets it in front of you. Its a typical breakfast, sausage links with eggs, buttered toast and grilled tomato. You feel like a toddler as you push the tomatoes to the side but you can't help that they make you want to throw up. Eating in silence with Simon is easy, like breathing or making the mad dash for the bathroom after the baby kicks your bladder. Simon had always been quiet long before you knew him as Simon, back when he was just Lieutenant Ghost. Back when you were just a sergeant who cracks a few jokes with Soap on comms. 

Back before the kisses, the near death experiences or this. Whatever this was.

"I think you should see a therapist." Simon finally speaks.

Your mind careens, your thoughts are sent flying like a grenade just landed at your feet. "What?" The question slips from your mouth as you look up with what must be confusion or something equal to it because he winces. 

"That came out harsh."

"Do not baby me Simon." You snap, the words come from your mouth easily. Its a comfort, to snap at him or anyone really. "Why do you think I need a therapist? Better yet, why do you think you have the right to make such a comment at all?"

"I'll go to." Simon offers up automatically and that's when it clicks. Oh, he's been thinking about this you realize. "You- I; we've not been handling his passing well." You bite your tongue and swallow the bitter laugh and words that try to rise up your throat. "The baby is less then eight weeks away from coming into this world and maybe talking about it would help with stress?" Simon adds on and you narrow your eyes at him.

"Did a nurse suggest this?" You question, stabbing the eggs as the anger rose up like a tidal wave ready to wash everything away.

"Your doctor and Mrs. MacTavish." Simon whispers the last part and your shoulders sink.

"How is she?" Your eyes don't look up from the eggs you had impaled on your fork moments earlier.

"She's worried, love. Worried about you and the baby." Simon is looking at you, you can feel it. His gaze always holds this chest collapsing weight but in this moment its a comfort. It weighs you down softly, keeps you connected to the moment.

You gnaw on your bottom lip before you concede. "I'll go." You whisper and his shoulders sink. Why does it hurt? Why does the fact he was ready for a screaming match hurt? You push those thoughts away. "Do you have a referral?" You question and he nods.

"The doctor gave it to me while you filled out the discharge papers."

"Alright then." The rest of breakfast is silent.

You lay awake again that night with sleep far outside your grasp as you stare at the wall. Simon is sleeping on the couch again but you doubt the sleep part. You swallow and turn over onto your other side, readjusting the pregnancy pillow to support your stomach again. Your hand is open and hanging off the side of the bed, right where it was connected to Simon's that morning. You stare at the wall, the only thing that separated you from him and you knew you'd only have to ask and he'd sleep on the floor again. You'd only have to wander out into the living room, swallow your pride and ask.

Was it really that terrible? Putting aside your pride? You'd already done it once today, twice if you count the sleep dazed request from when the day was still in the early hours. You shut your eyes and sink into another fantasy.

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his warm chest. His body warms yours and becomes a beacon to you, a lighthouse that splits through the dark stormy night to guide you to shore. 

You launch out of bed, the fantasy wiping itself away as you wrap yourself in your blanket and wander into the living room. From your position, you couldn't see much of him but you did see his arms behind his head. Little tufts of blonde hair barely visible from behind the couch. You were right, he was still awake. The moment you step further into the territory of the living room he sits up. 

Simon sees you there, standing with a blanket wrapped around yourself like a shield and he doesn't need you to speak. He gets up from his spot on the couch and follows you into your room. He settles down by the side of your bed as you climb back into it, after listening to you get comfortable once again, your hand hangs off the side of the bed. He loops his fingers through yours and listens as your breathing slows as slumber over takes you.

He finds he can’t stay awake much longer either.

tag list - @pepsicolacoochie @http-paprika @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @snoopyee

[spectres-n-soap]

All The Things I've Said PT2 - Ghost x Reader x Soap

Content Warnings - Ghosts past, tragic backstory™️, pregnancy, implied protective Ghost

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A/N - 2/7 done.

Ghost has found that the times when you are gone from the flat while attending therapy is suffocating. He normally does not mind being alone or the silence that comes with it but after spending the last weeks with you, he finds that he hates it.

He tries to keep busy now instead of sitting around like a dog left at home while the owner goes shopping. Which is what he did the first few times you told him that you would text him when the session was over. He had wandered from the couch, to the dining room chairs and back to the couch so many times in just a few hours that he was sure he was going mad.

It wasn’t until the fourth day of this that something had clicked and he started this routine. You were heavily pregnant now and after the reveal that you’d likely have to get a c-section, he had picked up more chores around the house. He cleans the dishes, takes out the trash, makes your bed and does the laundry. He buys food for the house and keeps everything stocked. Ghost looks at the little sage green onesie in his hands and wonders if the baby will even fit. He saw the size of them, they were going to be a big and fat baby.

Ghost folds the onesie with a skill that had made his hands shake when he first did it. Joseph had been a very fat and happy baby. All smiles and giggles, only crying when hungry or having soiled his nappy. He had big blue eyes that Ghost can still recall with clarity but not without it being soiled with the memory of how those eyes looked when he was dead. Maybe that's why he couldn’t visit Johnny before he was cremated. His and Joseph’s eyes were so similar. He didn’t want the memory of two sets of blue eyes glazed over with the gray of death.

Ghost rubs the soft fabric of the beige pants that went with the white shirt he had just folded. It was soft, non irritating for a baby���s soft and delicate skin. His mind is drawn back to the past, back to when Beth had just finished her own baby shower and there were so many gifts.

Despite Ghost’s family being rather small, Beth’s was not. It had been refreshing and a little overwhelming to have so many people over. But his mum had enjoyed it, she had made so much food that despite the twenty people in that house there were still leftovers.

Beth rested her head against Tommy’s shoulder, tired from all the fuss and talking while Simon gathered up the trash. “You okay love?” Tommy asked softly and cupped Beth’s cheek. Beth smiled up at Simon’s brother and nodded.

“Jus’ tired. That’s all.” Beth yawned and Tommy smiled before he suggested she take a nap while he and Simon cleaned up. Beth didn’t need any convincing and with their mum’s help, waddled up the stairs to their bedroom. Simon kept putting things into the trash bag as Tommy gathered up the collection of blue onesies and outfits. Simon had never imagined Tommy being a father.

He had never envisioned either of them being fathers because of the shit job their father had done. And yet, here was Tommy. Married to a wonderfully kind woman with a baby on the way, clean from drugs and their father left to die from whatever cancers ate away at his body. Good fuckin’ riddiance thought Simon.

“You’re gonna be a good father.” Simon said, not exactly sure where that came from. Tommy smiled at him, brown eyes mirrored each other.

“And you’re gonna be a good uncle.” Tommy said as he folded up another blue onesie. “You’re already a good brother.” Simon shook his head but didn’t argue. He had told the military to fuck off, that he was going on leave to fix up the mess that was his family. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to stay on hardship leave. Hopefully long enough to see baby Joseph.

“I’m doing what I’m meant to do.” Simon said with a shrug as he stuffed one last pile of ripped apart wrapping paper. “I came back for my family.”

“Thank you Simon.” Tommy placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “For making me get better.”

Simon shrugged off his hand, “I only threw the rope, you’re the one who had to climb.”

Ghost rewashes the baby bottles, not interested in the baby drinking from unwashed bottles. He watches the droplets slowly drip from the bottle as he sets them on the drying rack, he swallows as the memories claw up from the depths. He wishes they were happy still and not fucked up with blood and a type of grief that didn’t let go.

He looked down at the baby in his arms. All swaddled in a soft blue blanket with a blue boonie on his head. Baby Joseph. His face was still wrinkled and his eyes were shut, his mouth slightly open as he slept. There were feelings stirring deep within him that he had never felt before. There was this tiny life being held in his hands, hands that had killed and shot off guns that would surely ruin Joseph's hearing. And yet he was the only one holding him as Tommy doted on Beth after some skin to skin contact earlier.

Simon held his breath as Joseph blinked, his little blue eyes unfocused as he stared up at Simon. Joseph squinted and a small toothless smile appeared. “Hi Joseph.” Simon whispered as he looked down at his nephew and he felt tears appear in his eyes. “It's your uncle Simon.” Simon licked his dry lips as Joseph looked up at him, “I’ll protect you. I’ll protect your entire family. Promise.” Simon murmured, so quietly he almost didn’t hear himself say it.

Simon wipes at his eyes as the memory fades and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He checks his phone just as your text message appears, “I’m ready to be picked up.” Simon wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans before he grabs his keys as he stuffs down the emotions those memories conjure. You are not Beth. Johnny was not Tommy. And he was not going to let anything happen to you or that baby.

[spectres-n-soap]

One Step Forward, Three Steps Back - Ghost x You x Soap

Content Warnings - pregnancy, afab!fem!reader, panic attack

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You look at yourself in the mirror, you feel different. You feel like you’re getting better and you have expressed this to Dr Miller, told him how you think you’re starting to get better.

He had smiled at you, congratulated you but also warned you that healing is not linear. Much like an old scar, sometimes it’ll ache and you might find yourself hurting all day. You, being a soldier with a few scars that did happen to ache some days, took this like cough medicine. You knew that healing wasn’t linear. How many times have you broken something or needed stitches? You knew that healing was never as easy as it sounded. But today, you felt good. You’ve been feeling good all week despite the anxiety at the back of your mind, like a predator readying itself to strike at the unsuspecting prey. But you suspect it and therefore aren’t prey. You aren’t prey.

Simon peaks his head into the bathroom, checking on you like a mother hen. Last week, after returning home from dinner, you hadn’t just taken a step forward. You felt like it was a giant leap.

”You can sleep in the bed.” You murmured, finding it hard to meet his eyes when you said it.

”You’re not taking the couch.” Simon said gruffly and you cannot help the way your eyes rolled.

”No you wanker, I mean with me.” You huffed, annoyance washed away any sense of apprehension about offering this to him. You had been feeling bad about him sleeping on the floor next to you just so you could hold his hand on nights when you find it hard to sleep. Which seemed to be every night when you weren’t holding his hand.

Simon clutched the steering wheel of the vehicle, his knuckles nearly go white. You don’t notice it or pretend not to. He can’t tell, not when he has to focus on not crashing the car from the shock of you saying that. Finally he manages to speak again, “Okay, if that’s what you want.” He was not shocked to see you had put a pillow wall between him and you. He expected and found it surprisingly easy to settle into bed.

You smile at him, a thing that you feel like you’ve been doing more often. Yesterday you had smiled so wide your cheeks had hurt when Simon had brought home your favorite takeout while you had taken a short nap on the couch. “You sure about this?” He asks again and you roll your eyes with a smile.

”You sound like a dad.” You tease as you walk past him and grab your slip on shoes. “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll be good for me, even my therapist says so.” You comment as you slip the shoes on with a little more trouble than normal. You frown just a little, your feet have become more swollen. God damn it.

”I’m just making sure.” Simon says as he grabs your purse and hands it to you. “You’ll call me if you need me, right?” He asks and you can see the worry in his brown eyes. Genuine worry for you and you pat his bicep reassuringly.

”I will Simon.”

The group is nice. Although most of the women are a little less far along as you, they welcome you in with open arms. People discuss names for their babies, the genders and how excited or nervous they are. One woman, a pretty woman named Linda who is closest to you in terms of months, immediately brings you into her small group of women. They chatter and blessedly, don’t try to pry into your life. They don’t ask about your husband or the gender of the baby, the only thing they ask about is the name.

Your cheeks turn warm when you admit you hadn’t looked into any baby names yet. Linda gasps, jokingly, and offers you her baby name book, saying “I’ve already got my baby girl’s name picked out. I’ve had my eye on it since I was a little girl. I read it somewhere. Ophelia, how pretty of a name is that?” You smile and agree that it's a beautiful name. For once, you wonder if the baby is going to be a boy or a girl.

Everyone settles down when the teacher(?) starts. She goes over some things that every parent needs to know once the baby is here. How to make a bottle of milk, how to change a diaper, how to help get the baby on a sleeping schedule so you don’t go insane from lack of sleep and resources for postpartum depression. The class, overall, is wonderful. Most of the stuff you knew about but you have a feeling half of the reason for these classes is to know you aren’t alone and to make future new moms.

You’re walking up to Linda with the intention to give her your number so the two of you can text about the struggles of being this far along in a pregnancy. How achey your feet are or how your favorite foods seem to have been ruined. You stop dead in your tracks when you see her husband, it must be her husband since you saw the ring on her finger, come up to her.

All the warmth in the room seems to be sucked out when you see him. Messy brown hair, a bright and mischievous smile with a matching set of bright blue eyes that remind you of those springs in Florida that somehow keep getting advertised to you despite living in the UK.

He looks exactly like Johnny. So much like him that for a moment you think it is him until reality comes crashing down, you watch him smile down at her and kiss her tenderly. Your stomach lurches and your eyes burn, breathing becomes a struggle as you turn on your heel and rush towards the bathroom. You shut the door and lock it behind you, ignoring anyone who tries to talk to you and throw up into the toilet. You retch up your breakfast and that little fruity drink you had grabbed on the way here. Hot tears run down your face as you heave up everything in your stomach and then some.

You fall back, the taste of bile in your mouth only adds to whatever is happening as you sob. You grab at your hair as you cry and wonder what is going on. Why is this happening? Why now? You were doing so good! What did you do wrong? You should have never left the house, should have listened to Simon and stayed home.

Simon.

You fumble in your bag and shakily unlock your phone, immediately finding his contact in your phone and calling him. “Simon.” You sob into the line and he immediately knows.

”I’ll be right there luv, stay on the line with me yeah?”

”Okay.” You warble out as you struggle to breath past the sobs that shake your entire body.

”You got to breathe luv, can you do that for me? In, hold for three, out.” Simon talks you through it on speaker as he immediately begins to drive to you.

[spectres-n-soap]

Storm Clouds - Ghost x Reader x Soap

Content warnings - pregnancy, depression, afab!fem!reader, suicidal ideation.

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A/N - there are only five more chapters left before I end this off. It's been amazing writing this and being able to share it but I'll leave the truly mushy stuff for the last chapter

Simon has never made a 20 minute drive in 10 but he did today. He didn’t care about the traffic laws, not when you call him in tears and sobbing incoherently.

Not when he has to keep you on the phone and talk to you the entire way, not when he has to instruct you to breathe. “In for three, hold for three, now release for three.” He does it with you and your sobs turn into sniffles and quiet crying. He racks his mind for every possible reason how this could have happened. You had been doing so well and of course he of all people knows healing is never as simple as it seems but there were no signs. No hints that you crack and break today.

He nearly snaps off the stick when he pulls it into park and slams the door closed behind him. A man on a mission as he walks into the building where the parenting class was being held and feels his blood run cold when he sees him. When he sees a man who looks uncannily like Johnny, nearly an exact replica and Simon has to search for the inconsistencies to remind himself of the bitter truth, Johnny is dead. For one, his hair isn’t in a stupid mohawk. He lacks the scars bicep from a knife wound and the gunshot wound in Las Almas. And he’s with another woman, who looks concerned as she glances at the bathroom. 

Simon forces himself to move on past him, past the Johnny look-alike and knocks on the bathroom door where you were. “Oi, is she your missus?” He asks and that’s another thing to add on. Johnny was a proud Scot he was not as he once put it a ‘fucking brit’. 

“Somethin’ like that.” Simon mutters as he knocks on the door again, “Love? I’m here.��� He says and he vaguely here’s the lock click back. He opens the door just enough to squeeze in and closes it behind him. The sight before him makes his entire chest hurt, tear marks on your cheeks with your eyes red and puffy. “I saw him.” He whispers and you start crying again.

”He looks just like him.” You sob into his chest when he scoops you up off the bathroom floor. He rubs his hand on your arm, whispering his acknowledgement that he does and that it's okay. It’s okay to cry and break down right now, that he has her. He waits until he hears everyone shuffle off, even barks out for everyone to fuck off. Simon doesn’t want anyone seeing you like this, you don’t deserve that embarrassment.

Simon hates this. He hates the way that one thing has seemingly set you back so far. He has to remind you to eat, to shower and to not just sleep the day away. It’s not supposed to be like this, you were getting better. You were better. You left the house, you were finally looking forward to things again and opening up to him. He wants to be angry but angry at what? At who? Some stranger who has no idea that he looks exactly like someone else so specific that it sends another person spiraling? No, that just wasn’t rational. “Your appointment is in two hours.” Simon says as he checks in on you. You’re still lying in bed, curled up as much as your pregnancy belly will let you. “You should get ready.”

Those words only make you try and curl in on yourself further. “I don’t feel like it.” You whisper as you pull the blanket over your body. “I’m tired.”

”Please? I’ll grab your favorite sweet from the market if you do.” Simon cannot believe he’s resorted to bargaining with you. But if it’ll get you to take care of yourself and this is an emergency therapy appointment. It was a miracle he managed to get this in the first place, thank god for Dr Miller. There’s silence between him and you until the bed creaks under the weight of you getting up.

”Promise?” You whisper and he nods. You sigh and stand.

Dinner is quiet. He fulfilled his end of the deal, your favorite treat sits on the counter with a few pieces already picked from it. As the two of you lay in bed that night, something must crack. The words from the therapy session echo in your mind until you crack and shatter under them. You roll over and discard the pillows between you and Simon. Simon looks at you with shock and tenses up when you bury yourself into his chest. However he immediately wraps his arms around you when you start to cry. Your tears soak his shirt as you clutch onto him like a rock during a storm.

”I wish it was me.” You say between sobs and it takes a moment for the words to process in Simon’s mind. “I wish it had been me.” You repeat, throat trying to close up as you speak so it comes out choked. “It should have been me and not Johnny.” He whispers your name, tender and disbelieving of the words you are sobbing out. 

“You don’t mean that.” He whispers and you shake your head. You keep repeating the same thing, that it should have been you instead. He hates it. He hates it so much that it burns like a brand on him, like a reminder that he had failed that day. That they all failed that day, everyone but you. You weren’t able to be there and he’s glad for it he realizes. He’s grateful you weren’t there because what if you had died too?

”I wish I was dead and he was here instead.” You sob and he pulls you closer, holds you tighter like that will fix this. He’ll never be Johnny, he knows this. He can never be Johnny and people might look like him but they’ll never be him either. No one can ever be him. 

“I know love.” He whispers as he pets your hair, ghosting a kiss on the top of your head. “I know.”

[spectres-n-soap]

A Soft Breeze - Ghost x Reader x Soap

Content Warnings - Therapy, pregnancy, afab!fem!reader, angst with comfort

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“Why do you lash out at others?” Dr. Miller asks. The session had been going relatively normal, he had started out with the usual base questions he did every time.

“How are you?”

“I’m doing my best.”

“How’s the pregnancy?”

“Healthy for the most part.”

And it felt he was coming out of left field with that question. It must have been obvious how much of a divergence from the norm it was because he tries to back track but you stop him.

“It's easy.” You admit. Admission feels like poison or acid, eating up at you now that you’ve spoken it to life. It was easy, it is easy, to lash out at those around you then to confront the source. You scream and yell, throw things and break down instead of admitting the truth that no one deserves your anger. No one deserves the grief that eats you up and that you refuse to acknowledge until now. “It’s easy to lash out at others then take a moment to reflect.”

“Do you feel bad afterwards?” He asks as he writes down something of note and you cringe a little. Just another thing to add to the ever growing list of things wrong with you. That’s what you’ve concluded that means, that whenever he writes something down after you say something, that it's another thing wrong with you. You won’t dare to ask him if it's true; he’ll probably lie about it for propriety.

“Yes.” You still beat yourself up over the baby shower and every time you’ve yelled at Simon. “I feel awful afterwards because I know they didn’t deserve it.”

“So why do you take it out on Simon specifically?” Dr. Miller asks and you stiffen. What a loaded question, you thought. “Just off the top of your head, why?”

“Because it feels like he’s trying to replace him.” You say, throat becoming tight at the thought, horrible and malicious. “And I know that he isn’t and that it's not right for me to think like that.” Dr. Miller takes notes, his hand moving quickly over the lined paper in front of him as you speak and it takes everything in you not to stop or call him out on it. “It should be Johnny here. Not him.”

“You know that Johnny is dead.”

“Yes I know he’s dead.” You snap, “I know he is, alright? But it doesn’t stop me from wishing he wasn’t.” You put your face into the palms of your hands and sigh. “I’m a terrible person.” You whisper.

“No, you’re just a person.” Dr. Miller says, “There is no such thing as a good or bad person, just people who do good and bad things. Sometimes more of one than the other.” He sets down his clipboard and leans forward, “It's good that you are able to find what the reason is, now we just have to work on finding ways of expressing those feelings without hurting those around us.” You nod slowly.

Simon is waiting for you in the parking lot, a surprise for you. “Hey, I was thinking we could eat out tonight, to celebrate another therapy session.” You scrunch your face up and before you can retort anything he says, “Just accept the free food.” You truly cannot debate with that logic or offer and you get into the vehicle with him.

It’s not a fancy restaurant but to be honest, you might’ve tried to strangle him if he had. Just a simple sandwich place, the food is good and the restaurant surprisingly serves other things than just sandwiches and drinks. You opt for an italian sandwich and some tomato bisque on the side with crackers. 

The silence between the two of you is natural, especially as you eat and therefore become unable to speak without being rude. The restaurant isn’t bustling with tons of other people, in fact it's rather quiet for the time of day. You think it's because of the fact it's Wednesday. “I’m sorry.” You say after finishing your soup.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?” He asks and your cheeks warm.

“I’m sorry for being awful to you all the time.” You say, “It's not okay for me to treat you like that and I don’t know why you stuck around after everything.”

“Because you’re Johnny’s bird.” He says, “I’m doing right by him, I’m making sure the person he cared for and the baby he never knew existed are safe.” He states and you shake your head.

“I don’t get it.” You mutter and he chuckles softly, the sound warms your belly more than the soup did.

“You don’t have to.”

You get a call from Mrs. MacTavish the next day, “I was thinking about what you said the other day, about not feeling prepared for motherhood and I did some looking.” You vaguely hear some mouse clicking and she starts again, “I’m gonna send you some links to places holding parenting classes.” You glance at your phone and see the links copy and pasted into the text chat. “You should attend them, I think they would be very useful. Have a good rest of your day dear.” You say your goodbyes and tap on one of the links.

Just as Mrs. MacTavish said, it is for a place holding parenting classes throughout the week, you look at the next available one and feel your heart rate pick up. Two days from now, it will be held at a nearby library in the afternoon. Simon glances over your shoulder and asks, “Thinking about going?”

“It would be smart for me to go.”

“But do you want to?” He asks as he sets down his dirty mug into the sink to wash later. He leans against the counter and you shrug.

“Wouldn’t hurt to go, just to see if I like it.” Your thumb hovers over the register link before you finally tap it and send in your information. Putting down just how far along you are in your pregnancy feels surreal. Seven months along and nearly at your eighth. How did the time pass by so quickly? 

[spectres-n-soap]

To Live is to Love. To Grieve is to Love - Soap x You x Ghost

Content Warnings - afab reader, fem reader, depression symptoms, angst as always with some bittersweet comfort at the end. MW3 spoilers and MW3 is canon

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Simon keeps looking at you, he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a word, only looked at him with empty eyes. Simon knows you hate hospitals, you fidget and are ridged the entire time. “Hopefully we’ll be out by tonight.” Simon says, trying to spark a conversation. Hell, he’d take you screaming at him again instead of this. 

You shrug and put a hand over your stomach. It's the only movement you’ve been doing. Constantly checking on the baby, watching with a hawks gaze whenever the ultrasound machine wheels in. “They’re looking healthy.” The nurse declares. Simon stares at the ultrasound, the heartbeat of the baby regular and healthy is the only sound that fills the room. Simon takes in the image, the baby is sucking their thumb and he can see their feet. 

He pulls the nurse to the side and asks for a few pictures from the ultrasound. She smiles and nods, “Sure Dad.” His breath catches in his throat at the name. He tries not to think about you holding a baby with your hair and his eyes.

The doctor comes in later with a few pages of paperwork to release you from the hospital into his care. You stare at the dotted line and he waits, his stomach twisting itself into knots until you blink and write your name down. The doctor goes over a few rules that need to be followed but his eyes aren’t on the doctor, they’re on you. Watching for any hint of your spitfire personality when the doctor says that you shouldn’t be bending over or do much of anything due to the position of the baby. You nod and Simon hands you an outfit he had grabbed from your apartment.

Simon helps you into his truck and the drive is silent. Suffocatingly silent. He never minded silence until now, you didn’t turn on the radio and just looked out the window. “Are you hungry?” He asks and nearly slams his head into his steering wheel when you shrug. 

The flat is a mess. The door had been replaced; one of the things he had time to do while you slept in the hospital. The sage green and soft yellow decorations still littered the flat, the bags of gifts still on and surrounding the table. You walk through the flat and into your room, softly shutting it behind you. Simon lets out a sigh when he doesn’t hear it lock. He stands in the dim flat as his mind fills with worries.

Simon’s gaze flickers to your bedroom door, she’s hurting, check on her, let her have some space, what if it happens again, he’s standing in front of the door now. He doesn’t remember taking the long strides to get to this point. His hand hovers over the doorknob for just a second before turning on his heel and plopping his ass down on the couch, burying his head in his hands.

“Do ye think ye wid ever settle down?” Soap asked, his voice echoing in the one room safehouse. Ghost stayed quiet and hoped that Soap would just wear himself out with all his talkin’. Normally, Ghost didn’t mind Soap’s conversation but laying on the floor in the bum fuck of no where with a minimum of two days until someone can extract them; he’d rather rip his ears off. “I’d lik' tae one day, have a guidwife 'n' a bairn. Hell, as many as ah kin carry at once. What about you?”

“Never.” Ghost’s answer was short and gruff as he stared up at the tin ceiling. He wasn’t lying, never saw that kind of life for himself even before Roba. He was an uncle, he was happy with that. Ghost was happy with that life but that life was gone now.

“Never? Well if ah ever settle doon 'n' git that life, I’ll just force ye tae come wi' me. Can’t be a soldier forever.” Soap teased.

“Go to sleep sergeant.”

“Yes sir.”

Rain patters against the windows of the quiet flat. Simon finds himself standing in front of your bedroom door again. Truthfully, he hadn’t slept a wink and just languished in his memories. You should have done more. You could have saved him. Should have just let Johnny shoot that fucker. Simon slowly turns the knob and opens the door. You’re laying uncovered on your bed, soft snores leaving your mouth as you hold your pregnancy pillow close. Simon sinks down to his knees and brushes a few stray hairs from your face. His nerves settle if only just. You shift in your sleep, eyes blinking open with the haze of sleep clouding your mind.

“Simon?” You mutter, reaching a hand out for him. He glances between your face and your outstretched hand. A small whine escapes your throat and Simon holds your hand, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles while a pleased hum comes from you.

“I’m right here.” Simon mutters as your eyelids flutter closed. “I’ll be right here for as long as you need me.” He sits down on the floor and leans his head against the mattress.

In the morning he’s woken by your movement. “Why are you here?” You ask, voice thick with disuse.

“You wanted me here.” Simon replies, stretching his long limbs from spending the night on the floor. You glare at him but there's something missing. Probably actual anger or annoyance. “Are you hungry?”

Silence takes over the room before you sigh, “Yeah. I’m hungry.”

“Johnny?”

“Yeah lass?”

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered, holding him close to your naked form. “Be careful.”

Soap smiled down at you as he pushed some hair from your face before he brought you up to kiss him. “I wid ne'er even dream o' goin away. I’ll be back again 'n' again.”  You make a noise of protest when he tries to pull away.

“I don’t think you’ve kissed me enough.” You mumbled against his lips with a fake pout.

“Guess I’ll just hae tae keep kissin’ ye. How terrible.” His chest rumbled with laughter before he brought you in for another longer kiss. His hands grip your hips and bring you close. “I'll kiss ye everyday if you’ll let me.”

“Even when you’re away?”

“Just keep an eye oot fur mah kisses in th' wind.”

tag list - @pepsicolacoochie @http-paprika @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @snoopyee

[spectres-n-soap]

The Things I've Said PT 3 - Ghost x Soap x Reader

Content Warnings - afab!fem!reader, pregnancy, grief, c-section mentioned, worries of motherhood

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Main Masterlist

Simon picks you up from the building and for once, you speak first, “I called Mrs. MacTavish. We’re gonna have tea later this week.” You say as you pick at a loose thread hanging from your shirt.

“That’s good.” Simon responds before he adds, “I’m proud that you’re taking that step.” For some reason, the word proud makes whatever had built up in your chest disappear and relief replacing it. You smile to yourself as you wade into that feeling. You stare out the window and you realize you’re looking out the window not to avoid a conversation but because you want to. You want to see the world passing by. 

The flat is clean when you enter, something you know Simon has been doing while you’re away. You’re grateful for it, one less thing on your mind as the due date draws closer. You look at the calendar app on your phone and feel your stomach clench at how close the date is. It feels like yesterday you were taking those tests and now you’re only a handful of weeks away from meeting this baby. From meeting Johnny’s baby, you cup a hand over your mouth as a wave of nausea washes over you. You glance at this week's coming events and remember some of the items the internet recommends for you during the last six weeks of pregnancy. Practicing your breathing, relaxing your body and going on walks but not too much. Follow the 50/50 rule and get a bounce ball. You were sure there were other things you were forgetting as you sat down on your couch.

You also try to remember that your due date wasn’t guaranteed although if you were going to have a c-section you would have a set date. Since it was a surgery after all. You glance over at Simon who tilts his head at you and you fight the urge to ask him to sit next to you. You dart your eyes away and get back up off the couch, “I’m gonna go lay down.” You mutter and stiffly waddle back to your room. Despite letting him sleep next to your bed at night you couldn’t bring yourself to hold a conversation with Simon.

The week passes by slowly, mostly because Simon insists on doing anything that requires even a small bit of effort. “I can wash the dishes!” You protest as you try to push yourself in between the man and the dirty dishes.

Simon shakes his head and rolls his eyes, something that makes you want to slap him, “I know you can, I’d just rather do them myself.” Simon says and you make a noise in the back of your throat.

“I’m pregnant Simon, not fucking helpless.” You snap, “Let me do the stupid fucking dishes.” You point your finger at him, “You already do everything else.” You grumble. Simon stares at you and you narrow your eyes at him, trying to make sure he knew this was something you were not about to back down from.

Finally, the day had arrived. After setting a time and place for you to meet up with Mrs. MacTavish, the day was here. You bounce your foot up and down, which you couldn’t stop despite literally pressing down on it with your hands, as you wait to see her. You know the drive from Scotland could take a while but you keep checking and rechecking to make sure you have the time right.

Finally, you see her. Graying brown hair and soft blue eyes, a contrast to her husbands and children’s bright blue ones. Everything about her screamed motherhood. Tired eyes but laugh lines more prominent than any other wrinkle on her and you wonder if that's what you will look like one day. Covered in proof of a life filled with happiness despite the terrible things that happen. You know that day must have been the worst day of her life and you swallow whatever nausea had tried to rise up.

A waitress comes by and takes your orders, a fruity drink for yourself and a coffee for her. The silence hangs in the air for a little while longer before you speak first, “I’m sorry for breaking down and snapping at everyone during the baby shower.” You say with burning cheeks and stinging eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that and I’m sorry.” You startle in your seat when she reaches across the table and takes your hands in her own.

“I forgive ye, I’ve been worried fer ye. I ken this cannae be easy.” She says and squeezes your hand. You try to muster a smile but can’t seem to hold it for long. “Ye’ve been goin’ to therapy? I suggested it tae  Simon-”

“Yeah I have. It’s been helping.” You say, not wanting to hear about him right now. The waitress comes back by with the drinks and you thank her. You take a sip from the fruity drink, enjoying the sudden bursts of fruit on your tongue. “I’m worried.” You admit.

“Worried about what?” She asks after swallowing her mouth full of coffee.

“Being a mum. What if I’m not a good mum?”

She chuckles as she sets down her cup, “Every mum and every da has the same worries. I know I sure did when I was pregnant, each time I was terrified even if it was a bit silly after I had given birth tae several children before.” She smiles at you. “Let me give ye some advice.” She scoots closer like she’s about to tell a secret. “Ye learn as ye go. Ye can never be prepared for parenthood, that’s something I had tae accept when I had mah second child.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Parenting is a learning experience, all you can do is give it your best and know that you’ve given your best.” She says and squeezes one of your hands, “But I have faith in ye. Yer gonnae be a good mam because yer already worryin’ about bein’ one already.”

Mrs. MacTavish kisses you on the cheek before she leaves and says, “Thank yer fer bein’ there fer mah Johnny and yer gonnae be a good mam.” You smile and say thank you. You come home to Simon making dinner and your eyes fill with tears at the sight as your heart hurts for who isn’t.

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