Simon 'ghost' Riley X Reader

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 0.2k

the phone buzzes at 3:07 a.m.

you answer on instinct, heart thudding like a warning—but the moment you hear the low crackle of distant static, your chest eases.

"si?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"told you i'd call."

his voice is gravel, dulled by poor signal and fatigue. but it’s him.

"you okay?"

"fine," he says. it's automatic. a soldier's answer. then quieter, "can't sleep."

you sit up against the headboard, brushing hair from your face. "where are you?"

a silence and then, his answer.

"nowhere good."

he never tells you, not really. you stopped asking a long time ago.

there's a pause. you hear him breathe.

"is she awake?" his question makes you smile for a moment.

"she had a nightmare an hour ago. i rocked her back down, but she’s been babbling since. talking to the ceiling fan, i think.” you explain softly, sitting at the bed.

he huffs something close to a laugh.

"i'll put you on speaker."

in the dim nightlight, your daughter—grace, as he was gifted to call her, lies in her crib, blanket half-kicked off, tiny fists waving at nothing.

simon listens. on the other end of the world, he's crouched in some half-shelled out building, rifle at his side, bone-weary—but when his daughter coos into the line, high and breathy and nonsense-sweet, his eyes close.

"bah-bah. da-da-da-da."

he bites down the ache.

"daa,"she says again, louder, like she knows.

his voice breaks low over the line. "that's me, sweetheart."

as the line keeps up, you smile with your eyes closed. tiny moments, as you called them. tiny moments where simon could feel happy even if he was crossing the whole world.

a/n: simon would have a daughter fight me

"𝙄 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚"

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader |Angst?| Warning: Mentions of death ( this isn't proofread and this is so poorly written)

The battlefield was chaotic with all of the gunfire and explosions. Ghost moved swiftly as he tried clear out every area that can be a possible enemy hideout. You and him were both determined to find victory in this mission. Though, in the back of Ghost's mind, he couldn't shake the bad feeling of you getting hurt.

As Ghost fought through the hostile forces, something rang in his earpiece. It was your voice, weak and strained. "Lt.... i need help.."

Fear gripped Ghost's heart. The last time he felt this feeling was when he was a little boy, hiding from the wrath of his father.

He sprinted towards the source of the signal. Each step felt like an eternity, his mind and his heart was racing. He couldn't help but think about the countless missions you both had to go through. He was always there for you, always ready to catch you when you fall. But this time it's different.

Finally, he reached a dimly lit alley where he found your almost lifeless form, struggling to stay conscious. Your blood pooling into the ground with a faint smile on your lips as your eyes met his.

"My Simon" you called out his name, barely above a whisper.

Ghost hurriedly rushed to your side, dropping his knees. He scanned your injuries while trying to comprehend everything that's happening. "Hang on love, I'll get you outta here." his voice cracked.

"Simon, It's too late for me. You have to go" you weakly held Simon's hand.

"No, [Name] i wont leave you here." Ghost spoke out, his voice trembling with emotion. He couldn't afford to lose you. You were the most important thing that came in to his life, You were the only one he had left; the only one who saw him as Simon.

With every ounce of strength he had to muster, Ghost carried you to safety, trying to shield you from any possible threats along the way, while he contacted the rest of the 141.

As both of you reach the extraction point, you smiled at Ghost "Your always the stubborn one" your voice barely audible. "Take good care of yourself yeah?"

"Don't talk like that." Simon pleaded, his heart breaking at the sight of you. "Your going to make it. You have to."

You reached up gently touched his cheek "Remember the promises we made? that... no one was going to be left behind"

Your words struck into Ghost's heart. He couldn't save you this time.

"Promise me Simon. Promise me that you'll be takin' care of yourself, even if im gone." you spoke out. Ghost didnt say a word but he simply took off his blacalava and rested his forehead with yours.

"I love you, Si"

"I love you too."

----- ✧⁠*° -----

Days, months and even years have passed, Simon still feels the weight and grief of your loss. He tried to keep the promise of taking care of himself but, he just can't. Without you he's nothing.

He would visit your grave daily, talking about everything. The little things he saw that reminded him of you, the way he kept all your belongings in his place. The pain of losing you never subsided but he knew he had to keep going, he had to live for you.

"I promise, [name]. I'll never forget you. I promise that i'll keep you in my heart forever."

tea party gone tactical

aka: simon riley, code name: daddy

there’s glitter in the creases of his knuckles. plastic rings on every finger, tea stains on his jeans, and a tiara— pink, crooked— sitting proud atop his buzzed hair. simon riley, six-foot-something slab of elite military steel, has just been declared princess cupcake the third, ruler of the sugar kingdom. and he has orders to attend high tea at precisely four o’clock sharp.

he obliges. obviously.

the living room has been transformed into chaos of the most devastating kind—childhood imagination. there’s a tablecloth made from an old baby blanket, plastic saucers balanced on top of hardcover books, plushies seated like dignitaries from rival kingdoms. one has an eyepatch. another wears his sock. a stuffed unicorn has a crayon drawn scar and a tactical vest made of paper.

across from him, on her little purple beanbag throne, his daughter beams. two missing teeth. a feather boa dragging on the floor. she pours lukewarm apple juice into tiny cups, careful, careful, tongue poking out in concentration. simon watches like it’s a mission briefing. she finishes with a flourish.

“sir cupcake, would you like sugar?” she says, all posh and prim and nearly squeaking with excitement.

he nods solemnly. “two lumps. gotta keep my energy up.”

she plunks invisible sugar into his cup with a spoon the size of her hand. simon pretends to sip. “delicious,” he says, setting the cup down with exaggerated grace. “might be the best cuppa i’ve ever had, actually.”

“better than mummy’s?” she asks, eyes wide, clearly testing boundaries.

he leans in, whispers behind one big, calloused hand, “don’t tell 'er, but yeah. loads better.” she giggles—full, bubbly, from-the-gut giggles—and his heart pulls like a parachute cord mid-fall. she moves on to the cupcakes—half crumbled fairy cakes from the corner bakery you brought home last night, now decorated with more sprinkles than frosting. she smashes one into a napkin, offering it like a truce treaty.

“thank you, commander sprinkle,” he says, accepting the mashed sugar bomb and taking a heroic bite.

“you’re welcome,” she says, eyes shining. “you’re the bravest daddy in the kingdom!”

something warm knots in his chest. not the cupcake— he could take five more of those—but the way she looks at him, like he built the sky with his hands and tucks the stars in at night.

simon clears his throat, glances down at his ring-bedazzled fingers, the glitter on his arms, the juice in his lap. “…i'd go to war for you, y’know.”

she nods solemnly, not entirely sure what that means—but knowing it’s important.

then she picks up her pink plastic walkie-talkie and presses the button. “monster in the hallway. repeat, monster in the hallway! might be mummy coming to check if we ruined the carpet..”

simon stands, dramatically brushing invisible crumbs off his lap. he adjusts his tiara. lifts his plush unicorn with military precision. “on it, commander.”

and then, he charges out of the room, bare feet thudding against the floor, in search of the ‘monster’—glitter trailing behind him like smoke from a flare.

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