Headcanons For Simon Being The Mom/dad Friend To Reader And Her Just Eating That Shit Up? Like Yeah,

headcanons for simon being the mom/dad friend to reader and her just eating that shit up? like yeah, that giant intimidating guy wearing a skull mask is my best friend. he’s really cute right? (he is)

anon your brain is huge and i love it, thank you for such a gorgeous request! just want you to know that your second request will be up sometime soon, i just wanted to split them! thank you again for requesting, i hope you enjoy <3

pt. 2

fair warning to anyone reading, this is my first time writing headcanons (more like a short story with bullet points because my oh my i got carried away) so please don't shoot! anyway, i've got some ideas rolling around in my head so just jump into it:

let's get one thing straight

becoming friends with a man like simon is not an easy task

while you may be somewhat quick consider him a friend because you're both skilled enough to have made to the 141, it takes a lot longer for him to also consider you a friend

the process of getting him to this point is an arduous journey and some people (probably gaz and rudy bc i can see these two being equally terrified of this man) will not hesitate to tell you to cut your losses and leave him alone

i reckon simon is the type to verbally tell you this himself

and maybe for a bit you do leave him alone

but then one day you see him sitting alone in the commons area with what you deem to be the saddest plate of dinner ever and you just crack

cue you sliding into the seat in front of him with your tupperware full of homecooked food you'd stashed away the night before

naturally he gets frustrated and a maybe a lil annoyed so he goes to leave

but then you slide your tupperware of food over to him and his movements just kinda stop as he stares at you with his typical ghost stare

think 👁️👁️

he'll push the container back toward you causing you to push it back toward him

it becomes an almost vicious cycle before he finally snaps and spits out something like, "what's your fuckin' problem?"

to most he's a scary man with an even scarier voice so that would've been where most people drew the line (let's face it though, most people probably wouldn't have sat with him in the first place)

but all you can focus on is the piss poor excuse of a meal he'd retrieved from the mess hall so you just push it back toward him one final time with a simple, "eat."

he'll narrow his eyes and straighten his posture in an attempt to scare you off but when that doesn't work he'll tell you something along the lines of, "i'm spitting it out if it's shite"

he does not spit it out

from that day on, you'll seek him out with two tupperware containers filled with whatever you'd cooked up the night before and offer it to him

the first few times he's hesitant to accept simply because he doesn't wanna get used to the unusually kind gesture but it eventually gets to a point where he just stops getting a plate from the mess hall and instead waits around for you to feed him

these small dinners you share make it nearly impossible for simon to avoid your talking

he almost debates getting up and leaving a few times but then he remembers he'd be eating soggy meat and vegetables if it weren't for you so he decides to entertain it

and to the surprise of absolutely no one he eventually starts warming up to you, even throwing in a few comments and sarcastic quips of his own

and after a long while of having these dinners with you, he decides he likes it – he likes hearing you talk, whether it be about how you and gaz hid price's hat somewhere on base and blamed it on soap or what the latest celebrity gossip is

so what does he do?

he tries to block you out

it doesn't work because you're a stubborn little shit and refuse to let him fall back into his bubble of solitude and self pity

and he eventually realizes this so he just kinda accepts it after a while (more like a week)

and the two of you become quite chummy

well

as chummy as one can be with a person as closed off as ghost

instead you always being the one to seek him out come dinner time, he'll be the one to start finding you

it's a surprise

a delightful one

but still a surprise

his short, clipped responses will morph into longer, more thought out ones as your friendship continues to develop and you can't help but notice just how smart he really is

despite his everything that's happened to him in the past, he's actually quite in tune with the emotions of other people; his observational skills are off the charts

so you'll eventually start asking him for advice on anything and everything, even if it's not something that pertains directly to you because his wisdom outside the battle field is something to truly behold

it's amazing what can be solved without heavy loads of artillery and violence!

anyway

simon quickly becomes very used to this dynamic

you two having dinner, talking about everything and nothing all at once and while he may never verbalize it, he truly does appreciate it

he'd convinced himself long ago that his life was just cursed and that the people he loved and held closest to him were always destined for terrible things so he just closed himself off

he put on the mask and became ghost whereas simon was kept tucked away in a place no one even bothered to try and discover

but then you stumbled your way into his heart with your homemade food and endless chatter and he can't help but indulge himself

maybe having a friend isn't all that bad

and so the dinners/mini therapy sessions continue

until one day you don't show up

while he is a bit disappointed, simon decides to let it go because you've had dinner with him for god knows how long now

you probably just wanted a day to yourself and he understands that so he doesn't pry

even when he barely force himself to finish the sludge smacked onto his plate from the mess hall – how was he so comfortable eating that for so long?

but you don't show up the next day

or the next

and by the fourth day simon is just downright angry

and a little sad and worried

but mostly angry

who do you think you are to waltz in his life, make yourself cozy in his extremely tight knit circle, and then just leave him high and dry with no goodbye? (wow that rhymed)

if you're gonna ditch him like this then he's gonna make sure you sit through the awkward pain of saying it to his face

he spends an embarrassing amount of time looking for you before he even thinks to check your room

he walks up to your door, fully prepared to slam that door open and confront you

but then he hears you fall into a particularly nasty coughing fit paired with a muffled groan of agony and suddenly it just clicks

you got yourself sick

tempted as he is to simply walk away, he knows deep in his heart he can't do that to you

which is why you open up your door to see ghost awkwardly standing there with a tray of hot soup, water, and some medicine

you nearly cry in your haze of sickness

you'd spend the past four days miserably rotting away in your bed and to suddenly have simon by your side offering you soup and medicine? it was almost too much

ever since that day there had been a gradual shift in your friendship

it started with you two coordinating who would bring dinner on which days

but then it turned into simon being the one to bring dinner nearly everyday

which then evolved into him finding you throughout the day and offering small snacks and drinks

but he's a busy man and he can't do this every day so he'll settle for sending a simple message of, "you doing ok?"

and most times you say yes

but on the off chance you say no he'll take a few minutes to message you back and forth until you feel at least a little better (no this is not achieved by him sending you bad dad jokes, he would never do such a thing!)

but eventually the man just gets so tired of constantly going around base trying to find you that he'll simply just start to linger around you whenever he's free

gruff words of assurance and friendly pats on the shoulder become a staple for the masked man

when the team becomes privy to the newly formed friendship between the two of you, it's almost scary

like

imagine this 6'4 beefy mountain of a man hanging around someone half his size just chilling

i reached the character block limit how awkward anyway

it's odd and you know it is so you'll play into it

like that time you loudly asked ghost to grab the blanket from your room while you two were sitting on the couch in the common area while the rest of the team filed in

and him immediately going to grab it while the team are completely gobsmacked when he promptly returns with your blanket in hand

cue soap asking ghost the same thing a few days later and only receiving a glare in return along with a stern, "i'm not your maid, johnny."

then he just walks away leaving soap to feel like an idiot

it becomes apparent very quickly that simon has a favorite and that favorite is you

especially when he's the one to sweep you up into a quick hug with a quick pat on your head after the team completes yet another mission

you make it a point to squeeze onto simon just a tad tighter when you see soap looking over in complete bewilderment

seriously, how did you tame the legendary ghost?

and honestly?

you're not quite sure yourself

you just soak it in because you'd be a fool not to

maybe one day you'll ask him yourself

maybe you won't

doesn't matter either way because at the end of the day you're the only one who can proudly call ghost your best friend

even if he doesn't refer to you as the same

he totally does he just never says it out loud because he's secretly terrified you don't feel the same

regardless

you two are very much attached at the hip

what with you constantly getting yourself into trouble all around base and ghost not wanting you piss off the wrong person

he is very much your guard dog and you make it everyone's problem

soap went too hard on you during your sparring session? ghost is already glaring at him

gaz won't stop bugging you when you're actually trying to get your work done? ghost is pushing him out the door

price is about to lecture you for something gaz and soap framed you for? ghost is quick to rat them out

it's sweet really, the friendship you have

it warms your heart thinking about it

and it warms his too

even if he won't admit it

he's just grateful you didn't give up on him even when he wanted you to

because he's found that, sometimes, it's nice to have a friend

and he's glad it's you

:)

the morning after

Gwen and Aria's POV:

"Babe are you ready? It's about to start!" Gwen shouted to Aria from the sofa.

Aria was busy making them both hot chocolates in the kitchen, so they could enjoy a drink whilst watching the newest episode of Love Island together.

"Coming!"

Gwen's face lit up when she saw her girlfriend walk in the room, Aria's tongue slightly sticking out from concentrating on not dropping the drinks. She graciously took her hot drink and made room for Aria to sit down next to her, cuddling close.

"Thank you." Gwen kissed Aria's cheek and Aria kissed her cheek back in response, before both of them quietened down as the Love Island recap appeared on the screen.

"Last time..." Ian's voice sounded over last nights episode montage, "The heart rate challenge got everyone feeling flustered and even took two people to the hideaway."

"Oh my god! I forgot about that!" Aria gasped, watching Y/N and Harry in the hideaway together. "I've missed them so much."

"Babe, they were literally on our screen last night." Gwen laughed, thinking about how Aria had only become hers last night too.

"Feels like a lifetime ago..."

The screen then cut to the present and the episode began.

The lights turned on in the bedrooms and everyone started greeting each other with a good morning. Y/N and Harry's light turned on soon after, but you couldn't see them because they were buried underneath the covers.

"Morning everyone!" Antigoni shone bright as usual. A chorus of mornings replied.

"Do we think anything happened in the hideaway last night?" Ekin-Su asked, sitting up in bed.

"I think so, yes." Antigoni nodded.

"Yeah I think so too." Gemma added, smirking.

"I think Harry would want to take it slow though, y'know?" Luca added, spooning close to Gemma.

"Yeah maybe they didn't do everything." Dami chimed in.

Gwen and Aria sipped their hot chocolates, knowing full well that something happened last night because the cameras were cut off all too soon and they'd spent a lot of time deep under the duvets.

The screen then cut to the couple everyone adored.

Y/N's head was barely poking out the top of the duvet, whilst Harry had the duvet pushed down to his chest. He was smiling down at Y/N, who could be seen smiling up at him.

"What?" Y/N giggled, pulling the duvet more over their head to hide their morning after shyness.

"Hey, don't hide from me. Want to see you." Harry whined, pulling the duvet back down so more of Y/N could be seen. Y/N looked well rested, especially after how stressful the last few days had been. They both looked at peace, a soft morning glow about them both.

"Better?" Y/N's face now clearly seen by Harry.

"Would be better if y'gave me a morning kiss." Harry negotiated.

"Hey, sounds like you." Aria laughed, nudging Gwen's side. Gwen responded by flicking Aria's ear with her finger.

"I have morning bre–" Y/N couldn't find her sentence before Harry's lips were on hers. Y/N moaned in delight as Harry's lips softly brushed over theirs, feeling those emotions from last night all over again. They were both still sore and spent in places that hadn't been active in a while, but they would never get tired of kissing one another.

Harry made sure Y/N knew he loved kissing them with morning breathe and all, pushing her down into the bed more as he grew hungry for more of them.

"Wait.. Wait." Y/N spoke, pushing Harry away only slightly.

"What? Y'okay? Y'hurting anywhere? Is it your head?" Harry asked with concern, moving his hand to touch the back of Y/Ns head where they had fainted the other day.

"No, no. I'm fine. Just I won't want to stop if we keep going." Y/N explained.

"Also sounds like you." Aria added.

"Will you stop comparing me to Y/N and Harry for five minutes..." Gwen laughed. "We've been together for less than a day."

"And yet you've kissed me more times than a married couple of 50 years have ever kissed."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Gwen rolled her eyes, but not before kissing Aria.

Harry leant down to kiss Y/N once more, kissing their nose too just because he could, before flopping back down on his back. His arm wrapped around Y/N's body and pulled them close, wanting to feel her body on his for just a little bit longer.

He kissed the top of Y/N's head and Y/N kissed over Harry's chest, resting a hand over his heart and tracing over the tattoo's nearby.

"H?"

"Mm?"

"Would you ever get a tattoo for me?" Y/N asked.

"Obviously. In fact i've already planned it." Harry explained.

"I can't with him. He's too much." Aria squealed and Gwen pouted in agreement.

"Oh yeah? And what are you getting?"

"Your name across my forehead, but backwards so every time I look in the mirror I am reminded of you." Harry said so seriously that you would think he was being serious, but Y/N could tell by the affliction in his voice that he was joking.

"I would break up with you if you ever did that, just so you know."

"Wha... Why?" Harry gasped in fake hurt.

"Actually," Y/N sat up to look over his face, pushing back his hair to study his head. "Yeah, to be honest, your forehead is quite big. Could do with filling it out a little."

"Right, you. You just lost cuddle time with Beetroot tonight." Harry tried to be stern, unfolding his arm from around Y/N and turning his back to them, but he couldn't stay mad for long. Not even when he was pretending to be mad.

"No!" Y/N launched themselves over Harry's body, trying to defend themselves and Beetroot.

"I fucking love them so much." Gwen said perfectly.

a dark world (an ache to live) | simon "ghost" riley

summary: ghost fears death (because he has you). soap is there to make him a promise. tags: *ghost d words*, pregnant!reader/fem!reader, death, blood, gunshot wound, just angst a/n: this is very dramatic I'm sorry and it has nothing to do with my other fics. dad ghost is alive and well in those.

Ghost is quiet.

The Sergeant is not.

In middle-of-nowhere Russia, two souls trudge through the sleet. One leaning into the other. One talking to keep the other awake. With each step, their boots drag with more resistance. With each step, it becomes more of an impossible task for Soap to keep the weight of his comrade up.

Red footsteps follow.

Shimmering red. It catches the sunlight behind the clouds. It’s a crimson shade they are both all too familiar with.

Ghost, never one to accept help, now digs his gloved fingers into the Sergeant's shoulder for support. The heel of his other hand presses into the dressed wound at his torso, applying as much pressure as he can with his fading strength. Ghost’s deific strength— always a staple they could rely on, even at the worst of times.

But now—

His strength doesn’t seem to be quite enough. Not when the gauze has already been soaked through without mercy.

“Keep your eyes open, Lt.”

A grunt.

“Don’t think that’ll help.”

There’s something etched into the gravel of his voice that frightens Soap; a lilt of panic that he’s never heard from Ghost. Because Ghost doesn’t bloody panic, ever. Soap’s eyes flicker to the wound on his partner and he comes to a quick halt when he sees the growing stain on his uniform. He hisses a swear under his breath that pools smoke into the air.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Lt.”

Skeletal fingers pull back from the gore for inspection. They’re soaked and stained. Ghost is used to that— the red bones on his glove. Though, usually, it’s the blood of others.

“Gotta keep in every drop, ‘member?” Soap urges, and reaches over to press the wound for him. “Let me fix it up again. C’mon, hold yourself up for a sec.”

But Ghost only leans into a deeper slouch. The Sergeant stumbles from the immense weight of it.

“Would if I… could, Johnny.”

Soap doesn’t like that answer.

He keeps one hand on Ghost’s shoulder and abandons the wound with the other hand, only so he can dig through his med pack. Before he can grab the gauze, his Lieutenant is collapsing to the icy ground.

There’s nothing Soap can do to stop it.

“Alright, fuck,” the Sergeant hisses. He bends down. Ghost has slumped into a haphazard pile of muscled limbs and weighted tactical gear. “I’ll just take care of ya down here, Ghost. Stay with me, yeah?”

Frantic, urgent denial.

Soap drags the man’s legs out. Tries to get him more on his back so the wounded region is flat. He pushes up the bloodied shirt of Ghost’s uniform and swallows a lump in his throat when he sees the reality of it. So much blood— too much. He fumbles with the gauze but a lazy hand grabs his wrist.

“Don’t waste…” slurred breaths, “…my time with that, Johnny.”

“What do you—“

A tired scoff.

“M’dead weight. M’not… gettin’ back up.”

“We have to fuckin’ try.”

“Can’t… feel anything.”

“Jesus, think of Y/N. Think of your kid, Ghost,” Soap finally sputters out. He’s been trying his damned hardest not to think of you, nor the swell of your stomach that he noticed the last time he saw you. He worried he might fall apart if he did; he couldn't get them to help if he was broken.

“Tha’ is what… I want,” Ghost’s eyes dig shut. “To think of ‘em. So… don’t waste my time.”

A final order from his superior. One that travels through broken glass and shuddering ribs. The sunlight dips behind a grey cloud and they’re left together in this moment of gloom where time seems to slow down, two souls stuck in tar, and all Soap can do is obey his partner’s wishes.

Because he knows; they both know.

“Alright,” Soap mutters with a swallow of acceptance. He drops the roll of gauze. Moves a hand back to the bullet wound, presses it in vain, and nods his head. “Talk to me ‘bout them, Simon.”

Simon.

Ghost hears it. His real name.

A weak hand tugs off his mask. Underneath lays a face that his comrade has only seen once or twice before. Somehow, this face looks more like a ghost than the skull he'd ridden himself behind. A face with eyes that open in hollow, uncharacteristic fear. A face with pale lips that can move only enough to let out slurs.

"M'gonna have a son," Simon says quietly. Soap sees it now— the dribble of blood at his mouth. "She's... givin' me a son and I won't meet him."

"Jesus, Simon," Soap croaks. He reaches for his hand— holds it as a friend. A forlorn grip that Soap keeps close to his chest. "He's gonna be a good lad, alright?"

“I hope he... stays in school."

"Course, he’s gonna be smart.”

A weak smirk.

"Hope he gets... her looks. Not mine."

"I'm sure he will. She's beautiful, Lt."

"I know. Miss... her." His smirk fades. The notch in his throat trembles and bobs. Fear shakes out a whimper from him. "Wanna see her again, Johhny."

It seems only fitting, with his blood dripping onto the sleet, that the truth of him would drip out, too. A man rumored to be a beast lays here, whittled down to the version of himself only you ever got to see.

A version of himself that was afraid to die.

After years of aching for death's company, it has finally arrived. A reaper coming to collect him only after he'd changed his mind. For Simon ached for something else now: for you, for his family. He ached to come home and bury his face in your hair. He ached to touch his hands to your stomach and feel the fluttering kicks of life.

He ached to live.

And his comrade, with drying lips and salt in his eyes, could see this ache in each of his struggled breaths.

"Talk to me 'bout her, Simon," he begs, gripping his drenched shirt. "Somethin' good. Somethin' you love."

"Everythin'," his Lieutenant shudders. He doesn’t feel the pain or the cold. He just feels lingering adrenaline push out his throat in quiet spurts: “Her hair, her laugh... Fuckin'... hell. Love everythin'. Tell... her fo' me."

"I will."

"Tell her... Johnny. Don't want some," Simon softly wheezes and closes his eyes again. "...some random fuck doin' it."

"Fuck, I will," a wet promise. Soap wipes the salinity on his cheeks. "I'll tell her, Simon."

And soon a dark world begins to breathe into Simon's vision. He used to hang out in the darkness. Your light had gripped him by the shoulders and tugged him out. Now—

It finds him again. Old friends.

-----

A promise arrives at your door.

A solemn, dignified promise arrives with a folded flag, a sealed envelope, and a chain with two metal pendants: a dog tag and a ring. They clank together in his hand. And here, at the doorstep of his Lieutenant's home, a beautiful woman steps out with an unassuming smile and a hand rested atop the curve of her belly, and Soap doesn't even have the chance to say anything before your eyes gather the information you need, and the smile chips away into something horrific.

All you know how to do is scream.

And all Soap knows how to do is grab your hand, like he did for your husband.

someone write me an apocalypse au where ghost is surviving with just his daughter, protecting her and teaching her how to take care of herself

Hey hope your doing well late (?) Merry christmas! I love your young reader one shots and headcannons, If its okay and if u have the time can I request more young reader but this time they arent their usual excited chaotic self? Their js absolutely silent and any response they give the boys are just hums/nods or short quick responses?? Dont have to do this if you dont want too btw!

✎ tysm for this ask i'm so sorry this has taken so long!! merry super late christmas lol

✎ tags: young military reader, depressed reader, gender neutral reader, all platonic relationships, everyone in the military is emotionally constipated, mentions of therapy, not proofread ofc

♡ soap is the last to notice you're change in demeanor, and that's only about ten seconds after you've come out of the bathroom (plus, in all fairness, he was explaining how he was going to blow up a building).

♡ all four of the 141 task force are sat at the dining table in the safehouse you're all held up in currently. price and simon are both standing, hunched over blueprints and maps while gaz is typing on a laptop, trying to connect back to base. soap is sat off to the side, staring intensely at his own blueprint, marking points to put explosives every few moments.

♡ the mission you were on had been simple, as usual, and had gone wrong, as usual. everyone was used to it by now, on the verge of just expecting it constantly. you were too by now, but they had noticed the cracks forming in your demeanor, the way your usually-wide smile was tightening, how your eyebrows and shoulders wouldn't relax, your leg unable to stop bouncing when you would sit.

♡ you knew to be serious on missions. between small jokes and popping out when they were about to start getting frantic in looking for you, you would be serious, trigger finger always ready and listening for your next orders. this, though, was what the rest of the task force would call "several steps up" from your usual behavior.

♡ when you step out of the bathroom, they notice your head turned to the ground to hide and the lack of your usual announcement that you were back to grace them with your presence. they don't say anything, though. price wonders if this is what he's been waiting for, the day you lose your smile, and it opens a pit in his stomach that he tries to push away for the time being.

♡ you're all stuck in that safehouse for another four days, and it doesn't get any better. they don't hear you speak more than a few words at a time. you don't look them in the eyes anymore. you're restless and eager to keep your distance from them, only seen outside of the tiny room you had claimed when there was an update to the mission.

♡ they wouldn't talk about it, not while they're out on the mission. price stares at the floor while soap and ghost exchange a look, and gaz wonders if he should follow you back to your room. they just keep on working.

♡ all of them are quietly wondering what it was that did it in for you. everything they'd seen wasn't anything new to you. there had only been a total of maybe ten minutes that you weren't by someone else's side during the thick of it. whatever had happened, they weren't asking, and you weren't telling.

♡ when you're all finally evacuated, the helicopter ride back is tense. price and ghost escaped up to the cockpit with the pilot, and soap and gaz are left sitting in the seats across from you. you're just staring down into space. the most they had gotten out of you in the past few hours was a quick affirmation when given an order.

♡ soap tries to ask you if you're doing alright, and after the second call of your name through the headsets you look up at him. he asks again and you say you're good.

♡ after you land, you slip away to an empty meeting room to complete the new piles of paperwork that always came with the completion of a mission. it's late into the night, and even for a military compound, the halls are quiet; it's a heavy contrast from where you were just hours prior, and you're still waiting for another barrage of gunfire in the distance. the only thing that breaks the silence, though, is heavy footsteps coming closer before the door opens.

♡ in walks your captain with his own stack of folders and packets. he doesn't say anything to you, just sinks into the chair at the other end of the table from you and starts sifting through the papers. you just stare at him for a bit, because you know he has his own office. you know how he complains about his back when he has to do paperwork in a chair that isn't his own custom-ordered one.

♡ after a bit you finally get that he's keeping you company. you go back to checking things off and filling in answers, casting a glance up at price every few moments. he acts like he's alone in the room until he finally meets your gaze with raised eyebrows, as if asking, "are we going to talk about it?" and you go back to writing.

♡ none of the men can get you to crack; they hoped you would go back to your usual self after you got back from the mission, but two weeks afterwards they still couldn't get a full sentence out of you. kyle and soap would try their best to get you to laugh, and ghost even told you a couple of his jokes when everyone else was training.

♡ they finally talk about it at the three week point. it's been nearly a month; kyle brings it up hesitantly while they're all sitting together drinking and playing cards and you've gone to bed for the night. everyone puts their cards down and shifts uncomfortably in their seats, but they know they need to talk about it.

♡ they toss around varying ideas of how to cheer you up. soap says they should throw a party, ghost says to just leave you to work it out yourself. price suggests setting you up with one of the on-site therapists at the base and kyle asks if they should just do an "intervention-type-thing". either way, they know they have to talk to you about it. they elect price to try again.

♡ they next day, price pulls you aside into another empty meeting room and sits down with you. he's awkward and clearly a bit out of his depth, but he bares with it. price starts off with clearing his throat and saying that everyone's worried about you. you say you're fine, and he calls bullshit. you stare down at your folded hands while he goes on about how they've all noticed you're lack of energy, eating, going outside, doing anything outside the requirements really.

♡ he finally asks you what happened, and you mumble that you don't know what it was. nothing in particular actually happened. you just didn't know what was wrong with you.

♡ price tells you that it's alright, that there doesn't have to be any one reason, that there isn't anything "wrong" with you. he asks you if you want him to talk to one of the psychologists or therapists in the base for you. he tells you there's no shame in it, that we all need a little help, that everyone's worried and just wants to get you feeling better. you're hesitant to admit that you need the help until he tells you that just about every person in the base has talked to a therapist at least once or twice. it comes with the job.

♡ they start seeing the light in your eyes again when kyle or soap sneaks you your favorite candy bars, and you start laughing at everyone's bad jokes again, little by little. it takes awhile, but they keep doing what they can. they won't talk about it again, but they're all relieved to see the life coming back to you, slowly but surely.

May i ask what you think about Helen comforting-being there for Simon if he happens to have nightmares of his past and memories? i have this headcanon that he probably does have them given what has happened to the poor man so i wondered if you would ever consider doing something like that? :)

i am so sorry i took so long to answer this one, anon. i thought i could incorporate it into something, but alas it didn’t mesh well. but he 100% has them. and this is just something small of what i think could be.

simon ghost riley x f!reader (helen)

_____________

they first time he has one around her, it’s on base. her eyes full of sleep, lashes heavy as he wakes to murmuring and twitching. it takes her longer than she cares to admit—but then she touches him, hand to his chest, her other doing it’s best to slide under his balaclava, but it’s tight, so fucking tight, and he’s panicking—

his hand grabs her wrist. making it appear more dainty than it is in his grip. his chest rising and falling, all in quick succession—but it’s his eyes, swarming with darkness and disillusion.

“you’re okay…” ghost… simon. she’s not sure which of them is the one in peril. mainly, she knows how pitiful, and stupid her words were.

she’s not even sure why she lets the words escape, but she does. and he does seem to take a breath. does lessen his hold on her wrist.

he doesn’t talk about it, and she doesn’t ask. giving him space in the small bed they’re somehow sharing—letting him come round as he needs to, until his arm scoops around her waist, returning her flush against him.

sometimes they’re worse.

the one she can recall the easiest is at his place—his cries and groans rocking the house, never mind the bed. she’d been yanked from her sleep, her hand flicking on the light, half-jumping to conclusions before she saw simon, her simon.

the yellow touch of the light didn’t wake him. her eyes pinned to him, watching him somewhat thrashing, fists clenched and knuckles white. his words were twisted, messed up and hard to translate, her teeth biting her lip as she places her hand on his cheek.

a touch so similar to the one she’d give him when it’s just the two of them. simon and helen. helen and ghost. it would take a second, her palm flush with it before his breathing changed. a flicker of something.

if that didn’t work, she thought, she’d run her nails through his hair, she’d place her hand on his chest, his side—

but his eyes flip open, cold, distant—empty. they’re darker too, swirling with night and pain.

something inside of her unfurls. her anguish at seeing him like this bleeds, pooling inside of her, as vines from it begin wrapping around her insides—pulsing and tightening.

“i’m here.”

that’s all she can say, knowing him—knowing he needs to come around on his own. he needs a moment to give his brain the chance to touch reality. he blinks, adjusting—taking in that this isn’t a dream or a horrid nightmare. the walls of it crumbling, disappearing as the room comes to him.

she tried to say more, but it would be lost on him. his brain too tired and wound up to undo it all anyway. she knows him. she knows he wouldn’t want to be smothered.

it’s why she doesn’t take offence when he leaves the bed, the room—shutting the door behind him. he has a process, a way of working through things she won’t ever fathom—but he doesn’t understand hers either. her little things that keep her in reality and not off in some dark thought that envelops her.

silence ebbs at her, the room suddenly feeling larger, the air changed. the bed doesn’t feel as comfortable without him. but she remains, sliding her hand over the light to turn it off, grabbing her phone.

she reads until the door opens, him slowly entering—breath normal, hands occupied by mugs.

“did i hurt you?”

her heart drops, plummets. taking the mug, she shakes her head. “no.” hating that he even needs to ask.

she told him once before temperature would help. it would root him, remind him he’s awake and alive. since, he always get a drink—but he never drinks it. either a cold glass of water in his palm or a steaming hot drink. she further helps by tapping her nails against whatever drink she’s offered—something low, almost annoying.

in time, he’ll stop her. either placing his hand over hers, making her stop. this time he sits next to her, shooting her a glare. one she shoot’s back until be shakes his head.

“you good?”

“i’m good.”

he never wants to talk about it.

and she’ll never want to push.

she just waits until he asks her to come closer or just moves her, letting him do so until she’s where he needs her to be. just the same as he lets her when she’s had a bad night—or day.